This is All There is
by PaigeK9
Summary: One month has passed since Rick B-12 lost his Morty. Called back to the Citadel for reassignment, Rick is stuck with a broken Morty in a bunny suit. Deep secrets lie under the surface, ones that Rick isn't sure about uncovering. After all, this kid is only supposed to be a shield. He can't afford to care this time, but he can't help asking himself... Is this all there is?
1. This is All There is

It's been a long time coming, but heres chapter 1 of my new Rick and Morty fic! I'd like to thank my wonderful beta theforeverknight, without their support, this wouldn't have been written, and the AmazingJoker; my co-creator. I don't know what happened to you, but I hope you are alright. I also want to thank all of the reviewers of Iridescent, who inspired me to continue writing after my first fic. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONESHOT! 8,000 words of hell later... its a story.

 **Warnings:** Abuse, self harm, angst, past character death, blood (Mostly non graphic), drugs, alcohol (Duh), language, so much angst, PTSD, and basically everything under the sun. Probably going to be changed to an M rating in a few chapters.

Enjoy!

* * *

This is All There is

"Most of us are bitter over someone"

Youth

It had been one month since Rick Sanchez from dimension B-12 lost his Morty.

Rick liked to tell himself that the only thing holding him back from going through with his suicide, was the fact that it would most likely kill Beth too. _What a fucking lie._ Rick took a pull from his flask, the dark labyrinth setting off his nerves. He capped it, hesitating before tucking the container back into his coat. _The truth is you're a damn coward, you sick bastard._

His eyes trailed the blackened walls, a blue light casting the rows of hallways in bleakness. Rick kept pace with the other two pairs of footsteps on either side of him, as they passed dozens of empty cells tucked away in the catacombs. Apart from themselves, there were no other signs of anyone ever coming down there.

Rick felt increasing unease at the sheer... _emptiness_ of the place. He had never even heard of this hidden prison before today. _Something didn't feel right_. He let his hands travel to his coat pockets; the gesture seemed nonchalant, but in reality he was messing with a gun situated in the fabric. _Now would be a perfect time for them to try and murder me or imprison me or-_

Rick shook his head eyeing the guards walking at his side. He abruptly stopped, the Guard Ricks continuing on a few steps before turning to face him. "I-I'm not taking another step till you tell me where we're going," Rick stated, narrowing his eyes. They didn't call him the 'Paranoid Rick' for nothing.

The Guard Ricks glanced at each other, one pulling a manilla folder from his leather satchel. Rick B-12 watched as he flipped through a rather extensive file, pulling up a few records. The Guard Rick cleared his throat. "Rick from dimension B-12; also known as the most paranoid and suspicious of Ricks."

There was a brief pause in his little speech, B-12 taking the moment to cross his arms and gesture with a flick of his wrist for him to continue. "Approximately one week ago, you applied for another Morty. The request was accepted upon consideration of your previous partnership with the Council on numerous occasions." He went down the file.

"You, Rick B-12, have helped to develop the systematic dimensional transporter that allows the Citadel to teleport from place to place every few days, and you have installed the infrastructure of security cameras placed across the Citadel and multiple dimensions," Guard Rick prattled on. Rick B-12 rubbed his eyes as he continued. "Assisted in breakthroughs regarding-"

"OKAY, I get it," Rick B-12 interrupted. "I saved your asses on multiple occasions," He pulled his flask back out of his coat, intent on drowning the oncoming headache. "Wasn't even for your stupid Council's benefit anyways," pointing at them with the flask in his hand. The other Ricks gave him an incredulous stare as he took a long swig.

B-12 rolled his eyes when none of them picked up on the answer. "I did it for myself. If one Rick gets exposed by the Galactic Federation, there's a good chance that we'll all go down," Rick reasoned, walking past the silent guards and further to their destination. "They get their dirty, money grubbing hands on a portal gun..." he switched out his flask to wave his dimension gun around for emphasis. "They can access all our realities," he explained.

Rick stared at them behind his shoulder, now following him. "They call me the fucking paranoid one, but maybe it's 'cause all of you are too sloppy. Maybe I'm the only one with common sense." He shoved his portal gun in one of his many pockets. "Now what does any of this have to do with where we're going, or who I'm being assigned?" Rick asked as they rounded another corner.

He was startled at the sudden hand on his shoulder, immediately going to his laser pistol and pulling it halfway out of his coat. One of the Guard Ricks stopped him to hand over another thin folder. B-12 growled as he let the gun fall back into position and tried to take the file from the guard. He didn't let go, giving him a serious look instead.

"Unfortunately there are no Mortys in your direct finite curve that match," Guard Rick stated. "So we cross analyzed your brain waves, behavior, and overall rank to determine what we could offer you."

He let go of the file, and Rick didn't try to open it. "What's that supposed to mean? You brought me to your dramatic, medieval-ripoff of a jail to tell me this?!" B-12 hissed.

The Guard Ricks exchanged glances that irritated B-12 even more. He _didn't like_ when people _knew_ something that he _didn't_ , and he certainly _didn't like_ to be kept in the dark about anything. Rick B-12 wrinkled his nose at them, fingers playing across the file. "If you think I'm gonna live in the Citadel…" He trailed off into angry mumbles, finally flipping the thin folder open.

Rick quirked his brow at the first paper inside. It was a profile for a Morty; but nothing like he'd been expecting. The photo featured a kid in a dirty grey rabbit costume. He stared directly at the camera as the picture was taken, a dark black mask with haunting white lenses obscuring his face. The kid's yellow shirt seemed too big for him, and had a childish bunny drawn on the front with black sharpie.

The thing that caught Rick's attention was the dark stains on the arms of the suit. He couldn't fathom what they were from, but it seemed that they had been scrubbed to no avail. They made him uneasy for several reasons. The sidebar of the file listed his age, height, dimensional number, and all other basic information.

This Morty was fourteen. The same age as his own; although this version of his grandson had survived to live another month. Rick gritted his teeth at the thought, crinkling the end of the folder. It was all he could do to keep from throwing it down, abandoning the entire notion of getting reassigned and going home to drink himself into oblivion.

It didn't list his weight, but he let a breath out that he hadn't realize he'd been holding after glancing at the Morty's height. It wasn't the same, and he took solace in that fact. This Morty was five-foot even, short in terms of Mortys and almost six-inches shorter than his original. _Less to remind him of what he had lost._

The margin also didn't list his dimensional number, only a few question marks scrawled on the dotted line with ' _Nightmare Dimension?_ ' scribbled farther down. Rick ran his free hand through his hair. _That meant the Council had no idea what dimension this Morty was originally from, - so in short, they couldn't send this Morty back to his family after his Rick's death - leaving him stranded at the Citadel until he was reassigned._

The profile left more questions than answers.

Theories rolled in his head as he filtered through the remaining documents; none giving hints to why this kid ended up here. His fingers grazed the edge of a paper, making him hiss when it gave him a small cut. Frustration boiled over and he turned his attention back to the Guards.

"Look, I'm tired of ya giving me the runaround." B-12 closed the file and waved it at them as he spoke. "Would you just fucking tell me what's going on here!?"

Rick felt something slip from the file, photos dropping to the floor and scattering. He quirked his brow and bent to pick them up, noticing the guard's stiff positions. He grabbed the nearest one that had lodged itself under his shoe, flipping it over as he crouched low to the ground.

In that moment, the sharp intake of breath was louder than a galaxy collapsing in on itself.

Blood… There was so much blood.

The picture was that of a crime scene. A Rick laying in a pool of thick blood, completely eviscerated. Throat slashed violently enough that the head was barely attached, body mauled and gutted. Deep bite marks settled in the arms; inflicted by something with razor-sharp teeth. A wolf mask soaked red sat in the corner, probably ripped off during the struggle.

Rick had to take a moment collecting himself. He gathered the rest of the crime scene photos, putting them back into the file. Everything began to click together. Fitting perfectly in place like the pieces of a puzzle. _The jail that had never been used, the dark stains on the rabbit suit, the secrecy._ This Morty had murdered his Rick.

Rick stumbled over to a crate, sitting down and burying his face in his hands. He heard the guard's footsteps. "Why me? Why are you assigning me a Morty that butchered his Rick?" His voice grew increasingly loud with each word. Rick felt for his flask, not lifting his head to look at the guards. He took a long swig.

"I should've known you guys were gonna fuck me over," he cursed. Rick pointed at them accusingly. "WHY the hell would you think that a Morty that MURDERED his Rick would be my match?" Rick threw the folder on the floor, gesturing wildly. "Not to mention he's from a NIGHTMARE dimension! It's dark there for - what? All but maybe twenty days a year?"

The Guard Rick on the right cleared his throat. "Look I know this isn't the ideal situation-"

"IDEAL? That is the worst fucking understatement in the goddamned universe buddy!" Rick took another long pull, almost emptying the container. He belched before continuing. "Now, before I walk right on out of this bullshit, I would like to know why you idiotic versions of myself, thought that any of this was a remotely good idea." Rick tugged his sleeve back to glance at three different watches, reminding him of how much precious time he'd just wasted.

"We can't keep this Morty here," one of the Guard Ricks stated smoothly. B-12 looked up from his watches, skeptical. "Our job is to recycle Mortys. There already aren't enough to go around. They have a high mortality rate, and we can't afford to put a perfectly good shield out of commission for any reason," he reiterated.

B-12 was taken aback for a moment. He had almost forgotten that this was what these kids were to these Ricks. _Shields._ Nothing less, nothing more. Rick zoned out for a moment, remembering his sole reason for getting another Morty. This one was going to be a shield, and he wouldn't care if he died.

 _Not like..._

Rick snapped himself out of his thoughts, listening back into the conversation. The Guard Rick leaned in, trying to get his point across. "You're the only Rick that can see through a Zigerion simulation within point-six seconds. You're the only Rick to revolutionize camouflaging techniques for the Citadel. You're the only Rick that has the combat skills to rival Rogue C-137."

B-12 stood back up and shoved the other Rick away from him. "What does that have to do with anything?"

The Guard Rick groaned. "Everything, you dumbass!" He snatched the file back off of the ground and shoved it into B-12's arms. "You're the only Rick in the central finite curve that has a chance against this kid. You're the Suspicious Rick that's least likely to have his throat slashed in his sleep!" He exclaimed.

B-12 snorted at the guard's outburst, but nonetheless followed as he headed deeper down the hall. "So I'm the scapegoat, huh?" He questioned. The other Ricks didn't answer, but the hotheaded one folded his arms behind his back. B-12 tucked the file into an almost-empty pocket in his lab coat, unable to stop from laughing to himself.

The guards gave him an odd look, and he walked ahead of them. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen," he sang. "Never thought I'd see the day when a Rick was scared of a Morty."

The others were about to protest, when B-12 frowned. "This kid reeeeeeaally got the Council riled up." He walked a little faster. "But in the end, that's all he is. A kid." A bitter chuckle forced it's way out. "If only you could see that…"

They passed through an automatic door, brighter green light shining from the next room. A small isolation cell could be seen at the end of the hall, electric barrier separating the occupant from the rest of the world. In all honesty, Rick wasn't in the mood to deal with this shit. He slowed his pace to allow the guards to catch up.

The two didn't stop him, so B-12 took it upon himself to peer past the electrified entrance. The green barrier obscured a bit of the clarity, but he was able to see his new Morty crouched in the corner, staring at him through the white lenses of his mask. _The only Morty to ever spend time in this prison… His Morty._

He already hated the idea of referring to this Morty as _anything_ ; let alone _his._ A glint of something caught Rick's eyes, and he squinted to get a better look. Unfortunately, he couldn't make out what it was with the barrier.

Rick rubbed the back of his neck, wishing that there was still alcohol in his flask. "So, how's this gonna go down?" He asked squinting at the kid from behind the barrier.

The green shield suddenly fizzled out, electricity fanning out in a burst. B-12 heard the Guard Ricks ready their guns behind him, but didn't dare look away from the murderous kid in the corner. He jammed his hands into his coat pockets - specifically, the ones that held multiple weapons.

"We have a policy," a Guard Rick began behind him. B-12 listened as he eyed up this twisted version of his grandson. "The Council has decided that we need to make sure that you can handle this Morty before transferring custody," he said slowly.

B-12 snorted, crossing his arms. "Why's that?" He asked sardonically. He took in the sight of the kid, not crossing where the barrier had been.

They stared at each other for a few more seconds, before Morty turned his attention to his shoes. The kid started to picking at the muddy bottoms of the soles, hunching over further. It was like he was in his own little world; with no Ricks or prison or jailers. Rick felt himself lowering his guard, until the dark stains on the arms of this Morty's suit drew him back to reality. _Blood stains._

He was thin. Thinner than what he expected. He hadn't noticed when looking through the pictures. The collar of the kid's shirt was ragged and well-worn, stretched out to show more grey fur stretching underneath. Rick was just about to repeat his question, when his eyes trailed deep gouges that were inlaid across the floor and walls. They resembled… _Claw marks?_

B-12 heard the guards shuffle their weapons behind him. "Because we have an obligation to make sure you don't die on our watch," a Guard Rick said. "This Morty not only murdered his Rick, but maimed three others before we could contain him."

Rick B-12 gave a grunt of acknowledgement. They made it sound like this _child_ tore through Ricks like paper. He caught another flash as the Morty dug into the floor beside him, sending up a shower of sparks. Rick backtracked, spinning around and giving a yell of utter frustration.

He waved wildly at the Guard Ricks. "Are you serious!" he gestured to the Morty. "You didn't disarm him? He has fucking razor-blade claws!" Rick shouted in disbelief.

The guards kept their guns trained on the Morty. "Wasn't our job," one huffed out. "Prove that you can handle him," the same guard urged, cocking his weapon. The sound reverberated off of the walls, making Morty stand up and rake his claws down the wall.

"Fine." B-12 growled, pulling his laser pistol from his lab coat. He was just about to enter the cell, when the remaining Guard Rick snatched his gun out of his hands. "What the fuck?" He tried to rip it back from the guard's grasp.

"No weapons. If he gets too close to killing you, we'll take him out," the Guard Rick warily informed; obviously tired of this assignment. "Empty your pockets."

"What makes you think I have any more weapons - minus my portal gun?" B-12 said, narrowing his eyes. He winced at the shrieking metal behind him, glancing back at the armed Morty.

The Guard Rick exhaustedly straightened his uniform. "It's policy. Don't try to bullshit us, you're the Suspicious Rick. You never have less than five weapons at any time." The guard pressed a gloved hand to his forehead.

B-12 relented, only because he was ready to go home and get drunk. It had been a long day, and he was much too sober for anymore strain. Rick searched through his many pockets, dropping three more guns to the metal floor and a knife that had been attached to his calf. The last device he pulled out and held over his head.

"I'm keeping this," he said challengingly. It was an injection gun with starry blue liquid swirling in the glass body. "Sedative." B-12 clarified, as he shoved the device back into a pocket.

When the Guard Ricks didn't protest, B-12 turned and took his first steps into the cell.

Morty watched him intensly, immediately ceasing his horrid scratching. The kid curled further into the corner, flexing his claws. His body tensed more as Rick stopped a few feet away from him. Rick shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to keep the situation lowkey and nonchalant.

The Morty had done nothing in his presence that could be considered outwardly aggressive, and he hoped that treating the kid like this wasn't a big deal would help to mellow everything out. _He wasn't in the mood for a fight._ Rick exhaled through his nose, staring at Morty. _Now or never…_

B-12 could feel the guard's eyes on his back as he spoke, making him edgy. "Let's get out of here kid, this place is depressing as fuck." The Morty tilted his head, sliding down the wall a bit when he took another step forward.

Rick took the opportunity to get close enough to hold a hand out to him. "Come on, you can take that suit off, right? I just need the razors kid, I don't care about the mask." It started off soft, but became more of a demand towards the end. Rick mentally backhanded himself for coming off so harsh. Red flags began to raise, ' _Never back a wild animal into a corner'_ flashed across his mind.

The kid hugged himself, struggling for a moment. "Go 'way," Morty said in a thick voice.

Rick sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That's not an option kid," he muttered. Morty seemed to be done with this conversation, staring past him and at the armed guards. Rick snapped his fingers in an attempt to get Morty's attention, but he wouldn't even look his way. It was beginning to alarm him, how easy it was for this Morty to dissociate.

Rick reached for Morty's arm, continuing his placating. "Now Morty, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. You've been reassigned to me," he explained, gently grabbing one of the kid's wrists. Morty's head snapped back to stare at him. "I'm your new Rick-"

Morty jerkily pulled his arm back, Rick tightening his grip. He had barely got the words out before the kid slashed his claws at his face violently. Rick shoved himself away, razors missing him by centimeters. He stumbled, backpedaling as Morty attacked him.

"Okay," Rick growled. "Hard way it is." He dodged another close swipe, snatching one of Morty's arms and twisting it behind his back. Morty howled as Rick shoved him into a wall, immobilizing him.

Morty pressed his forehead against the wall as Rick tried to disarm him. The suit apparently wasn't full body, the arms held up by a clip under the boy's shirt. Rick felt along Morty's clothed shoulders, finally finding it and unbuttoning the thing through his shirt. He pressed Morty's arm into his back harshly, stripping the fabric off both individual arms.

Rick then threw the fabric in the guard's general direction, ignoring Morty's wails. "All right," Rick began. "Imma let that one slide, Morty. Gonna let you go now," he said in advance, adrenaline still rushing through his veins.

Rick slowly uncurled his fingers from Morty's arm, noting bruises that he definitely didn't leave there. The kid let his bare fingers slide down the wall, shaky breaths escaping his lips. All was quiet for a second, before Morty took advantage of their close proximity, headbutting Rick.

Bright light exploded in front of Rick's eyes for a moment, blood gushing out of his nose. Morty pulled something from his belt that Rick had missed, spinning to face him. He only had a moment to react, ignoring his blurred vision and forcing himself to remove the hands cupping his nose.

He jumped back, Morty wildly slashing with a thick, serrated hunting knife. Rick felt the weapon easily tear through his shirt, grazing his side. Rick snarled, grabbing Morty's forearms and bringing a knee up into his stomach. Morty yelped dropping to the floor like a stone. He let go of the knife, coughing brokenly. Rick kicked it across the floor before he could reclaim it.

"Sonuvabitch!" Rick yelled, grasping the wound. It wasn't dangerously deep, but it bled heavily, staining his shirt and seeping into his white lab coat. He turned his attention to the Guard Ricks, hissing in pain. "You could've told me he had a fucking knife!" B-12 wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve, hoping that it wasn't broken.

Morty managed to get to his knees while Rick was distracted, still dazed and gasping for air. "And you," Rick ground out at Morty. "You stabbed me! You fucking stabbed me, ya little shit!" Rick had to seriously restrain himself, tempted to kick the boy while he was down.

Suddenly, Morty gained enough clarity to launch himself forward and into Rick's legs; screaming incoherently. Rick fell backwards and Morty was on top of him in a second, hands going to Rick's exposed throat. Rick immediately reacted, hearing the guard's guns charging and feeling fingers cut off his air supply.

Rick reached up, digging into Morty's mask and tearing it off of his head in one swift motion. Morty immediately threw himself off of Rick, crying out and covering his face. Rick sat up, heart pounding in his chest. He looked to the guards, now lowering their weapons that still glowed from the charge.

Morty curled into himself, desperately sobbing and shielding his eyes. _They'd come so close to dying._ Rick glared at the guards, who looked away in - what he assumed was shame. He swallowed thickly, picking up the mask that had been discarded in the fight. _So close to losing another Morty. He wasn't a kid to these people, only a tool to be disposed of when necessary._

Rick quirked a brow at Morty, who didn't show any signs of getting back up. _But what had caused that response?_ He certainly hadn't been expecting this when he ripped the mask off. Rick fingered the mask in his hands, popping one of the whitened lenses out and analyzing it. The cogs in his mind began whirring, dots connecting.

Rick's eyes widened in realization, looking up at the puzzled guards. "He's blind," he affirmed. Rick held a lens to the light, observing how it darkened the room. "At least in the light." The Guard Ricks looked at each other.

B-12 got to his feet, brushing his pants off. "In his dimension, it's almost always night. His eyes must be conditioned to the darkness," he concluded. Rick smeared more blood on his sleeve, leaning over Morty with his hands going to his coat. "How could you not know that?" He grumbled at them.

Rick took the sedative gun out of his coat, peeling Morty's limbs away from each other and rolling him onto his back. He loomed over him, and Morty made a startled noise when Rick shoved his head to the side. He quickly injected the drug into Morty's jugular, and almost pitied the kid when he reached up a fisted the lapels of his coat with one hand; the other desperately covering his eyes.

"Come on kid, just let go," he whispered to himself. Morty's body trembled violently for a few seconds before he went limp, breathing evening out. Rick untangled Morty's hand from his coat, putting his gun back into his pocket. He then left the kid to gather up the rest of his weapons that lay outside the cell.

He didn't even look at the Guard Rick's, as they strapped their guns to their backs. B-12 was more than pissed. _They should have been a lot more thorough when it came to this boy. They were trigger-happy fucks who didn't care enough to take basic precautions. To know anything about the kid that they were ready to shoot._

Rick opened a portal back to his dimension, strolling over to Morty and dragging him across the smooth floor _. He was so fucking done._

"Wait," a Guard Rick stopped him before he was able to get through the portal. Rick groaned, lifting Morty up from under his arms. "We need you to fill out a few forms to verify your position."

Rick shifted Morty under one arm, not sure how to feel about how thin he was. _God, he hoped that he hadn't given the kid an overdose_. "Go to hell," Rick snapped. He flipped them off as he went through the portal, idly wondering what he had gotten himself into. _He was definitely getting drunk tonight._

* * *

Consciousness was slow to return, his mind feeling like it was wading through quicksand. Morty kept his eyes closed for a long time, the drugs working against him and blocking out his sense of alarm. He knew that he was supposed to be terrified, but it was slow to return. Morty felt cool metal beneath his fingers, and it took all of his strength to lift up an arm; feeling like they were weighed down.

Morty felt thin bars to his side, and the fear came back to him like a bucket of cold water thrown over his head. His eyes snapped open, thoughts still sluggish and blurry. Morty sat up, staring at the dark garage around him.

The first thing that he realized was that he was in a metal cage. Bars were pressing into his back, and he pushed his legs out about halfway before meeting the other end. Something was against one of his feet, but he couldn't tell what it was with the numbness working through his legs. A dim, red light illuminated part of the room, and Morty looked to the source.

A Rick sat at his workbench, lava lamp plugged into an overused socket. He was working on something, and Morty craned his neck to see from the cage. The Rick dipped two lenses in a tub of unknown liquid, grabbing a bottle and then taking a long swig. He couldn't remember what happened before he lost consciousness. Morty shook his head, bringing a hand up to rub his face.

It hit him like a train when he felt bare skin. _Where was his mask?_ Morty searched all around in a panic, memories of the prison flooding back. _Reassignment._ _A new Rick. He took his mask, his costume?! His only measures of defense_. Morty gasped, throwing himself against the bars. _Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

The world spinned as he almost passed out again. _He needed his suit! There could be anything waiting in the dark._ It inevitably looped back to Rick. _God, he thought that he killed him! Why couldn't he stay dead? Why were there more?_ He scrambled to the door of the cage, attempting to unlock it from the inside.

"It's padlocked, kid."

Morty jolted and licked his lips, feeling the lock through the bars. He gazed up at the Rick, back still facing him as he worked on his project.

The Rick grumbled to himself as he rolled up his sleeves, shuffling around his desk for a pair of metal tongs. He leaned forward and removed the lenses from the container, hanging them from a clip suspended on a wire above his head. "You - you're already more trouble than I want right now," Rick remarked, grabbing a screwdriver from his drawer.

Morty watched silently as Rick got up to reach a futuristic gun on a high shelf, wincing and grasping his side where Morty had cut him. He was wearing a clean lab coat, and a white undershirt; his normal blue sweater discarded. "I - I'm still pissed about the fucking crater in my abdomen," he hissed, plopping back into his chair and absentmindedly screwing something on the weapon.

The Rick hunched over, still ranting. "Don't even got any of the good healing shit lying around." He waved the screwdriver around as he spoke. "Another setback, I'm gonna havta make more later. Scrawny ass, furry bastard…" Rick trailed off, taking a swig from a bottle.

Morty jumped when Rick slammed the glass back down on his desk, crumpling up some forgotten plan and throwing it in the direction of the trash. "And now my daughter and her idiot are on my ass," he swirled the chair around and glared at Morty. "They- they're fucking furious, Morty. Went to a hotel for a day or two, granddaughter went to stay with her 'friends'," Rick made quotations with his fingers.

The man sighed, rubbing his eyes. Dark rings were painted under them, a unique feature that Morty hadn't seen on any of the others at the Citadel. "At least that'll give me some time to sort this shit out."

Morty felt the bruises on his arms, scrunching his face up. The Rick noticed, calculating eyes piercing right through him. Morty scowled at him, digging fingers into tender flesh. _Oh, how he hated this man. Cruel, cold, sadistic monster. His intelligence never let anything slide._ They stared at each other for a while, both unrelenting.

Morty began to notice things about the Rick; subtle differences that were already setting him on edge. How he compulsively bounced his leg, how his eyes flickered every which way, how he was constantly messing with something, - such as the screwdriver in is hand - and even his ranting.

 _Always moving, always fidgeting, constantly talking. He was the near opposite of his grandfather, but somehow still the same person._ Morty blinked hard, shoving the thought out of his mind.

The Rick continued to bounce his leg, leaning over to get a better look at Morty. "You're thin," he stated, squinting his eyes.

Morty growled back at him, fisting the hem of his shirt. "You're old," he retorted.

The Rick didn't respond to his comment, or back off. He just dissected Morty with his eyes, making him feel like something was crawling under his skin. Rick put the screwdriver inside of his coat, leaning back into his swivel chair and looking down his nose at Morty. "Was worried there for a bit, thought I'd given you an overdose of that sedative. How was I supposed to know you're so goddamned skinny."

Morty shuffled, feeling extremely uncomfortable with this conversation. He felt an object bump against his foot again, and he reached for it to keep his attention off of the Rick. Morty brushed the rim of a ceramic cup and picked it up, liquid sloshing around the glass. After an experimental sniff, he gave the Rick a suspicious look.

The Rick took a long swig from his flask before elaborating. "With the amount of sleeping shit I shot you up with, I'm surprised you're conscious at all," he said, pointing at the mug with his flask. "Beth made soup earlier, probably piss warm now, so you'll have to deal. Need to wash that shit out of your system before it knocks you back out."

Morty stared into the cup, weighing his options. _It could be drugged, and he could be using the sedative as an excuse._ "Or don't," the Rick shrugged. Frankly, I don't give a damn if you lose it again. You're easier to deal with when you're unconscious anyway." He took another pull from his flask, watching Morty out of the corner of his eye.

 _How long had it been since he'd last eaten? A day before he killed his Rick, and then he was at the prison for… two, three days maybe?_ He shook his head, unsure of the answer. He wasn't really worried about food, but he was starting to feel hungry. _Which meant that he would need another hit soon._ His fingers itched. _He needed more Xax'ic, not food._

"Is it drugged?" Morty asked seriously, mentally reprimanding himself after the words spilled from his mouth. _Of course he wouldn't tell you if it was spiked, you idiot! What the hell is wrong with you? Asking a Rick such a dumb question. Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

The Rick crossed him arms and scoffed at him, leg still bouncing uncontrollably. "Why the fuck would I bother drugging you?" He rolled his eyes, gearing up for another long rant. "You're currently in a dog crate with a massive amount of sedative in your system, and even if you escape - by some _miniscule_ chance - I'm in a lab full of weapons, and all I have to do to _completely_ incapacitate you, is flick on the fucking light switch."

When Morty stared blankly at him, he ran a hand down his face, making an exasperated noise. "No, it's not drugged," he groaned.

Morty's face heated with a mix of rage and embarrassment, his grip tightening around the cup. He reared back and threw the liquid out of the cage, splattering before it could reach the man's shoes. He was also tempted to shatter the mug against the bars, but that would leave him sitting in glass shards for an undisclosed amount of time.

The Rick didn't get angry at him like he expected, only looking through him. No expression or emotion. He just emptied his flask, his leg finally settling. There was another extended silence between him. Morty wrapped his arms around himself, feeling naked and exposed without his suit. _He needed it back. Now._

The Rick capped his flask, tucking it into his lab coat. "You wanna tell me how you got the burns on your neck?"

Morty's entire body stiffened, ice cold blood pumping through his veins. His hand immediately went to the healing burns around his throat, soreness radiating off of them in pulses. He pushed down the shock, trying to will himself to calm down before the man noticed. But it was much too late, wide eyes tracked how the Rick's mind whirred to life, putting pieces together in _that infuriating way._

Morty gritted his teeth. _HOW HE HATED THIS MAN. He wanted him to die. He wanted to make him hurt, to make him suffer. Like how he did. He wanted to feel the life drain from his body as he gutted him in the most painful, gruesome way imaginable._

"G-give me my s-suit back! NOW!" Morty screamed in a shrill, demanding voice. He shook the bars, world blurring as the sedative caught up to him.

"AND there's the stutter," the Rick voiced, opening his arms wide. He seemed amused but bored at the same time, and it made Morty more desperate. He snarled at him as blackness began to form at the edge of his vision.

"Wait," Rick paused. Something interesting had caught his attention, and he slipped off of his chair to kneel in front of the crate. He tilted his head as Morty hissed and spat at him, unperturbed by the outburst. After a solid minute, Morty quieted, panting from exertion and the struggle to stay conscious. The Rick continued to peer in at him with an intrigued expression, and Morty scooted back with a hateful look.

"You're teeth," he mused, rubbing his chin. "They're sharpened?" he questioned, not really wanting an answer that he already knew. He had said it for himself.

Morty felt himself falling asleep, and he ran his tongue over sharp teeth. He nodded at the Rick, crouched low to the ground with his hands on his knees. His clarity was fading, along with his reservations. He guessed that the Rick had gotten what he wanted because he got up and began to pace, while mumbling incoherently to himself.

Morty watched with blurred vision as the Rick sat back down back at his desk, working quickly as he settled the dry lenses into some leather. He must have blacked out for a few moments because when he opened his eyes again, the Rick was unlocking the cage and sliding something over his face. He fought weakly as the Rick picked him up, trying to remove the strap twisting behind his head. Morty was too uncoordinated to do anything but get his fingers caught in greasy hair, tugging out strands by accident.

Rick shouldered open the garage door, flipping a light switch on. When Morty didn't scream in agony, he made a satisfied sound. "Good. The goggles are working," he huffed, carrying Morty up the stairs. Morty got a good grip on the lenses, yanking them.

Rick immediately batted his hands away, shifting him a bit. "Do - Don't fucking do that, dipshit. Those are the only thing protecting your weak ass eyes from the _scary_ hall lights." Morty stopped messing with the goggles to fist Rick's coat, frustrated cries escaping his mouth.

"They're better than the shitty lenses you had in that creepy mask. These adjust to light and should let you see colors pretty well. You're Rick must've been incompetent as hell if he couldn't rig something like this up," Rick spoke casually.

"P-put me down," Morty moaned weakly, tugging the lapels of Rick's coat as hard as he could. Rick ignored him and attempted to open a door while juggling Morty in his arms. After a few seconds, the hinges creaked open and the Rick carried him into a barren room.

"One rule kid, before you pass out on me," Rick pressed on firmly. Morty was out of it, gazing around the bare room that may have been someone else's before him. All that stood out in the empty place, was the bed with dark blue starry covers and a lone elephant lamp sitting on the nightstand. It had been cleaned out, almost completely.

The Rick dumped him on the bed, throwing the covers over his body. "Don't you dare touch my fucking family. Maybe Jerry, but not my blood relatives," he barked. Morty could barely process the threat, darkness overwhelming him.

"Don't want to hurt them," he muttered as the Rick sat at the foot of the bed. "Only you," he said hatefully. Morty hugged the soft blankets close, noting that they smelt brand new. He felt a spark of fear as the Rick reached out to shut the light off.

"No," he cried out, the Rick's hand pausing. "The monsters…" he trailed off into more muttering. "They come out at night. They'll kill me, I need my suit. The dark," he whimpered, finally slipping into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Rick blinked as the kid's pleas cut off, his mind connecting loose ends. He watched as Morty curled into a tight, protective ball catching the collar of his shirt in his mouth so he could gnaw on it with sharpened teeth. Rick crossed his legs, taking a half-finished project out of his coat and idly rewiring the circuitry.

 _That explained the ragged collar of the kid's shirt._ Rick paused, collecting his thoughts as he pulled his favorite screwdriver from a pocket. He wished that he'd taken this Morty's files so he could compare the bite marks on the Rick's body to the kid's teeth. _Who was he kidding?_ He screwed the back of the invention back together. _Of course the kid ripped that Rick apart._

 _But why?_

 _Now that was the million dollar question._ Rick sighed, rolling his shoulders. He looked around the room, feeling a deluded sense of melancholy. The bare walls, the rugless carpet, all the collected souvenirs from their adventures… _Gone_

Everything that was left of his Morty was gone. He dropped his invention and the screwdriver, noiselessly falling to the carpet. Rick uncrossed his legs and put his head between his knees, sinking into self-hatred. _Not the time for pity Rick_. His grandson was dead, and he had to focus on what was going on now.

 _He couldn't afford to look back._

 _And he couldn't afford to care._

Rick got up from the bed, stretching and giving the new kid a thoughtful once-over. He peeled the covers back enough so that he could see the faded burns on Morty's neck; those paired with the mottled bruises covering his arms, planted seeds of suspicion in Rick's mind. He _didn't_ like not knowing things.

Mortys didn't kill Ricks. It was a fact. But this one did, and he was starting to figure out why.

Of course he'd never force the kid to say anything regarding _this_ , he had some decency about privacy. It was Morty's secret to keep, and he wasn't willing to drag it out of him. The burns, the bruises, the kid's weight, his Rick's death, and just the way he acted, pointed to some underlying abuse.

Rick shook his head, leaving the room without turning the lamp off. It wasn't his problem, or his place to care. This Morty wasn't his real grandson, he was a shield. Nothing more, nothing less. He headed down the stairs, contemplating the boy's fear of the dark. He guessed that it could be because of the nightmare dimension he had lived in, but he wasn't sure.

 _He'd deal with it tomorrow._ Right now he had to hide anything that could be used as a weapon and find some clothes for the kid to wear, since he was sure that the family had thrown out all of his Morty's after the death. They were so adamant about disposing of everything related to his grandson before the funeral could even be held.

Beth had completely disconnected after her son's death, and he was sure that the only reason that he was allowed to stick around was because she couldn't stand to lose anyone else. Jerry and Summer hated him for it, but seemed to take the passing in strides; resuming their lives soon after.

Rick entered the garage, breaking into his stash and drinking heavily for about an hour. All of his thoughts were centered around his Morty, and how he failed at protecting the one good thing in his life.

After another particularly long swig from his bottle, he rocked back in his swivel chair. He emptied the container, smashing it against the concrete and letting the room spin around him. He buried his face in his hands, thinking deeply about many things.

 _He was so tired. He would give anything to turn back time and save Morty._ Rick stared up at the ceiling. _It should have been him._ He screamed, swiping an arm across his workbench and allowing everything to crash to the floor. _It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered._ Rick dropped his head down to the desk, resisting the urge to vomit.

 _God,_ he thought to himself.

 _Is this all there is?_

Rick passed out.

* * *

Review, like and favorite for more! If you have any questions about the story, don't be afraid to pop by my PM or tumblr. I go by the same account name and try to answer and reply to everyone. Also, I tend to post sneak peeks and in depth stuff on my tumblr, so don't miss out.

PaigeK9, signing off!


	2. Dances With Wolves

Oh sweet mother of God this chapter is 25 pages long. I thought it wasn't going to make it to 2,000 words, but I just love to hurt myself. I'm sorry this is so late, but college hit me in the face along with depression, and then my computer got a virus that erased everything last week. Imma try to get on a regular updating schedule, depending on school. This took so long because I can't write dialogue and I think I'm awful, even though theforeverknight is exploding from my fic on how 'beautifully its written'. Meh.

The first part of the fic is very dark, and you've read the warnings in chapter 1. Next chapter this WILL be rated M.

For the awesome guest that commented 6 hours ago, my long lost friend and cocreator TheAmazingJoker, and my beta theforeverknight; that puts up with my bullshit.

Kat Aclysm - Evil Rabbit Morty is my favorite from pocket mortys. Daycare Rick is may favorite Rick cause he got pink socks and takes care of a bunch of smol children.

Thanks for all the reviews! I love you all ;)

* * *

Dances with Wolves

"Why should I apologize for the monster I've become?

No one ever apologized for making me this way."

-The Joker

Morty woke up feeling suffocated. He panted, throwing the blankets off of his sweaty form. Morty sat up, allowing the heavy bedding to slide down between the space near the wall. He adjusted his new goggles, taking in new colors that he had never been able to see well before. Morty unconsciously carded his hands through greasy hair, categorizing his new, bright world. He sighed, swinging his legs off of the side of the bed and ignoring oncoming nausea.

He sat thinking for a few long minutes, trying to make sense of things. _Why would a Rick spend time making him special lenses? Was it because he needed him to be able to see properly on missions, or for another ulterior motive? And what was he going to do now? If he killed this Rick would he just be reassigned again? God, was this going to be an endless cycle… Would he ever be free?_ Morty got up, nearly tripping over a box.

He stumbled, grabbing the bedside dresser for support. Paper crumpled under his hands, and he found a hastily scrawled note. Morty flattened out the crinkles in the paper and began to read, shoving the box away with his foot.

 _The closet was cleaned out, so all the shit that would fit you is gone. I dug around and found some of my old band merc you can wear until I feel like looting a mall. Get a shower, you smell like piss. Bathrooms the last door at the end of the hall. AND DON'T FUCKING THINK ABOUT ATTACKING ME. I took the liberty of hiding anything that could be used as a weapon last night. No running off either. I put alarms on all of the windows and doors, there's surveillance cameras in every room but the bathroom. So don't try anything kid._

It wasn't signed, but it was very obvious who wrote it. Morty balled up the paper hatefully, and tossed it in the empty garbage bin near the nightstand. _The old fucker had trapped him. What was he gonna do?_ Morty hastily dug through the box on the floor, discarding any clothes without long sleeves. Most of the shirts were black, red insignia for _The Flesh Curtains_ splayed over the fronts. Many were too big for him, and would be baggy on his thin frame. After digging deep into the box, he found a sleeved shirt with red stripes along the arms and a red portal in the center.

 _At least the sleeves would cover his bruises. The colors would also help him fit into the dark if any monsters came by since the old man took his suit._ Morty removed the shirt from the box, some underwear, darkened jeans with torn knees, and a pair of white socks that he guessed were Rick's. His old sneakers would be fine to wear for the time being, even if they were dirty and the soles flopped as he walked.

He gathered up his items and left the room, pushing back the urge to heave.

* * *

Without his Xax'ic, the effects of not eating and the pain in his body bore down on him without mercy. When Morty had first entered the shower, he'd clamped a rag between his teeth to stop from screaming in agony. The hot water burned the wounds around his throat and stomach for what seemed like an eternity.

Long minutes passed, the water finally soothing his battered body. He sighed in relief, disconnecting the showerhead and sitting on the floor of the tub. Morty hung his head forward as he washed his hair so that the shampoo couldn't drip down to the burns circling his throat. Even now, as he used his fingers to tear through his tangled head; he couldn't stop himself from thinking.

Morty thought about many things, most of those things revolved round a man named Rick Sanchez. He always wondered how he got here. How he became so _pathetic_ … so _dependent_. Morty sat at the bottom of the tub long after the suds had been rinsed out of his hair, holding the pouring nozzle over his head.

Morty let his fingers rub the slick porcelain, disconnecting from reality. He was thrown back into a deep memory that he never wanted to think about again.

He remembered the first time he met his grandfather, all those years ago. Well, it wasn't exactly the introduction, but the actions that followed soon after. Morty met Rick Sanchez when he was five years old.

Morty didn't remember much, his mind was always in a drug filled haze and he guessed that it altered his memories over the years. But he did recall his mom crying over the man, so happy and ecstatic at his return. He couldn't remember what happened in-between, the next tattered part included his mother giving him a bath.

His mom had been called away to an emergency, and she left him. Morty stayed in the bath water until it became icy, much like he was now. The memory began to slip away, and Morty growled at his loss, tearing out a chunk of hair. He kept the spray over his head as he lurched forward and twisted the knob to cold, shivering under the freezing water.

Morty sighed as the lucid visions began again, pulling his knees up to his chest. His Rick wore a wolf mask. Empty white lenses, jagged teeth protruding from the blackened muzzle, and matted blue fur spilling behind erect ears. It was nothing like his mother's mask, or even his sister's, and it felt _wrong._

His grandfather - whom he'd only known for a few hours - leaned heavily on the door frame, pushing the snout of his mask up to chug a bottle of hard alcohol. Years later Morty had realized that that his mom had expected Rick to watch him, and presumably get him out of the tub while she was gone.

The next chapter of the memory was a blur, and it had Morty wondering if it had really happened or if it was just a bad dream. His grandpa had kneeled in front of the bath, looking at him for a while with a tilted head. Next, he was under water. Rick, the man that his mother trusted, had shoved his head under the cold water.

There was no reason for him to do what he did, and Morty never questioned why he did it, or _anything_ he did for that matter. Rick had held his thrashing body underwater until he inhaled a lungful of liquid, finally pulling him back up. Morty had coughed and gasped frantically, and Rick had gotten up and left like nothing had happened.

Morty never told his mom, and Rick disappeared for another seven years.

He sat under the freezing nozzle for a long time, even after the memory had faded away. Morty couldn't tell if he was crying because the water pelted his head, hiding what could be tears _. It was okay now. He was dead, and Morty was alive._ Morty turned the tap off once his lips started turning blue, drying himself off and getting out of the shower. He idly wondered what he was supposed to do afterwards, before shrugging and opening the medicine cabinet.

If Rick needed him, he could damn well come and get him. Morty combed the cabinet, hissing when he couldn't even find an old razor. _The old fucker had been thorough, he'd give him that. When he wrote that he'd hid everything, he meant everything._ With no possible weapon, Morty switched his priorities to the injuries dotting his body.

Morty grabbed some antibiotic gel from the cabinet and a roll of medical wrap that had been left on the top shelf. After laying his supplies out on the sink, he took a moment to assess himself in the mirror. Morty ran a hand over his stomach and winced at the shallow scratches that were left there, and that would probably join his collection of scars.

Rick had not gone down without a fight, even though it was a short lived one. His Rick had been too surprised at Morty's attack to do much damage before Morty had killed him. The only thing he had been able to accomplish, was sinking his own razor claws into Morty's abdomen. The fact that Morty wasn't gutted, meant that he hadn't gotten far.

Morty twisted the cap off of the gel, smearing most of the tube over his stomach and throat. There wasn't much he could do about the bruises over his arms, except hide them until they faded. Morty threw the empty tube away and began to wrap himself with the bandages, cursing when he realized that no scissors were left to cut them with. He groaned and used his sharpened teeth to do the job.

The bandages covered up a vicious scar that he'd gotten on one of Rick's runs. It was an ugly thing that curled around his hip, never healing right because of the uneven stitching Rick had given him in the field. Morty thinks that it's the worst of the injuries he had received during their adventures; Rick having aliens hold him down as he tried to sew him back together.

Morty was conscious for far too long during the incident.

He finished cleaning up and shuffled into his jeans, pulling a shirt over his head to hide old cigarette burns on his chest and the splotches on his arms. Socks and shoes came next, and he patted down his clothes as he looked in the mirror. "Good as new… I guess." He frowned at himself. _Too skinny, too short, and too stupid._

Morty's stomach gave a painful lurch from hunger, and it forced him out of the bathroom. _It's not like he could stay in there forever anyway._ _Avoiding Rick would only make things worse._ He sighed and adjusted his goggles, heading down the banister and towards the scent of food. Morty walked through the living room, only stopping to contemplate hiding in a closet. There was a chance he could bend a metal hanger into something useful before Rick found him.

Morty decided against it, glancing around the unfamiliar house for the cameras Rick had written about. When he didn't find anything in plain view, Morty glanced in the direction of the kitchen. His ears picked up on footsteps and the clanking of pans, now sure that Rick was distracted for the time being. _He wasn't going to waste a chance. Not if he didn't know when he would have another opportunity as golden as this._

He quickly scoured the room, throwing open drawers, searching the tops of shelves, and behind the television. There was no sign of the cameras, or anything he could use against Rick. No stray weapons or lost paperclips; nothing besides the legs of the chairs and tables, which he certainly wasn't going to risk smashing apart with Rick a room away.

Morty huffed, out of breath and already feeling tired. Probably because of the sorry state of his body, continuing to frantically paw through the room. He'd dropped to the floor to peer under the coffee table and couch, when someone cleared their throat. Morty jolted up, heartbeat thrumming against his chest. His head slammed forcefully into the bottom of the low table, the legs clattering loudly against the floor.

Rick stared down at him, crossing his arms. "And what the fuck do you think you're doing?" He asked, tapping his foot impatiently.

It took Morty a few moments to process the question, spots still dancing in front of his vision and unable to keep from cradling his head like a baby. He stumbled to his feet, using the coffee table as a support with one arm, the other preoccupied with the shooting pain in the back of his skull. Morty squeezed his eyes shut, answering halfheartedly. "Nuffin."

He could still feel his teeth rattling, when Rick suddenly grabbed the hand cradling his head, pushing it away. Morty tried to push back, but Rick gripped his bruised arms and pulled him close. "Stay still, ya little shit! I-I'm tryin' to figure out how bad you hurt your stupid head," he hissed.

Morty growled and slammed all of his weight into the Rick, a sense of accomplishment washing over him as the man backtracked a few feet and lost balance. It was short lived, Rick cursing and fisting Morty's damp hair. He squeaked as Rick grabbed the strands, forcing Morty's face into his chest.

Morty could barely breath, suffocated by the fabric pressing into his nose. Rick carded through his hair, brushing the bump beginning to form on the back of his head. When he didn't find any blood, he gave a satisfied grunt and shoved Morty away. He gulped for air the second the man withdrew, tense and unnerved by the experience. He righted his goggles that had been knocked askew in the brief skirmish, glaring at Rick.

Rick was unimpressed, removing his flask from his coat and taking a long swig before speaking. "I told you not to fuck around, kid," he spat in an irritated tone. Rick capped his flask, his free hand snatching Morty's wrist and dragging him in the direction of the kitchen. "Hope that bump on the head taught ya something, Morty. When I tell you to do something, you do it," Rick emphasized, squeezing the boy's wrist hard.

Morty didn't resist as he was led to the other room, feet meeting linoleum and the scent of food ripping into his stomach. Rick tossed him into an empty chair, heading to the stove and filling up a plate for him. Morty watched in silence, taking in the new smells and the brightly furnished kitchen. He unconsciously took a spoon from the table, trapping it between sharp teeth.

Morty gazed at the mess Rick had made of the room; pots and pans overloading the sink, enough food for ten people stacked in different trays. His mind wandered, gnawing absentmindedly on the spoon. "Why'd you make so much?" Morty asked around the metal, running his hands across the clean wood of the table.

Rick kicked the fridge shut after rooting around for something, reaching in the cabinet for a glass and a coffee mug. "Hmm?" Rick responded, not paying attention as he juggled things in his arms.

Morty's teeth clamped down on the spoon. "Food!" He hissed angrily, not liking Rick's lack of focus.

"Oh," the Rick said passively, sitting a glass of juice in front of Morty. Rick started to place some condiments on the table. "I have security monitors in my room," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. "So I knew when ya got up. Went to make some breakfast, considering Beth's not here and you're about ready to keel over on me." Rick stared vacantly at him for a couple of seconds.

"Didn't think you'd take so goddamn long in the fucking bathroom, and I got bored," Rick said with a shrug. "So I kept makin' shit until you started dicking around in the living room." He sat a plate in front of Morty; a mess of different foods piled together haphazardly. Bacon, scrambled eggs, hashed potatoes, toast, and messily-made pancakes.

Morty almost died, just from the temptation dangled in front of him. _It had to be a trick. Don't eat it. He did something to it._ Morty hugged his cramping abdomen, pushing the plate away. Morty watched as Rick poured himself a cup of coffee, putting his mug down in front of a seat at the opposite end of the table.

Morty tried to distract himself from the hunger pains, staring at the dark circles still under the Rick's eyes _. Maybe even darker than the night before_. Morty took the spoon out of his mouth, allowing the brittle metal to rattle against the table. _Rick hadn't slept last night_. He thought. _An insomniac Rick wasn't rare, but judging by this one, he must take it to an extreme._ Morty drummed his fingers on the wood, trying to put his ideas together through the haze over his starved mind.

 _What was it the guards said? The Suspicious Rick? The Paranoid Rick? What was that supposed to mean?_

Morty's head snapped to attention as Rick started to ramble again, pulling up his legs to rest on his seat. "Beth, dipshit, and Summer should be gone for a few more days," he seemed tired as he spoke. "Left a message on the answering machine when I was - umm - ' _less than sober'_." Rick made quotations with his hands. He seemed to shrug off his solemn demeanor, giving Morty's untouched plate a sharp look. "Eat your fucking food," he commented, becoming aggravated.

Morty shook his head as the Rick narrowed his eyes at him. "I don't want it," he deadpanned, sliding the plate farther down the table.

Morty felt his heart pounding, blood rushing in his ears as he openly refused the Rick. Something that he had learned from regretful experience, was that you never say no to a Rick. He was at war with himself, on whether or not he should fight this man; only choosing blatant disobedience because of his promise to himself.

He was _never_ going to fall victim to a Rick again. He wasn't going to be a stupid, helpless little kid who didn't know any better. Morty pulled his knees close as he observed the man's reaction, nervously digging his nails into the edges of his wooden chair. Rick's shoulders tensed, and he yanked his flask from his lab coat. Morty watched as the Rick proceeded to spike his coffee with whatever heavy drink he chose that day, capping the container and forcing it back into his pocket. Morty jumped when Rick slammed the mug back down on the table, liquid sloshing over the edges and rolling down the sides.

Rick immediately rounded on Morty.

"Frankly, I don't give a damn if ya want it or not," the Rick growled, glaring at him. Morty glared back from behind his knees, almost unable to meet the man's eyes. Rick waved his arms as he continued. "You may have started this - this little hunger strike or whatever the fuck you wanna call it, but I'm ending it." Rick slapped his hands down on the table, making all of the silverware vibrate. "Now," he added.

Trembling and unable to keep up with their glaring contest, Morty opted to stare at Rick's shoes instead. "You can't make me do anything," Morty replied somewhat regretfully.

Morty saw Rick's hands fall from the table out of the corner of his eyes. He heard footsteps and before he could react, Rick's arms were on either sides of him; gripping the spine of the chair and trapping him. Morty squeaked at the close proximity, Rick coming nose to nose with him; the front legs of the seat not even touching the ground as Rick shoved him backwards. Morty shrank into the chair, previous confidence gone in an instant. He almost choked from the scent of stale alcohol and soap that radiated off of the man.

Rick forced Morty to look at him as he spoke, threatening tones seeping into his voice and crawling down Morty's spine. "Do ya want to die, you little idiot? Is that what you want, huh?" He hissed in Morty's face, the boy trying to turn his head away. "Do you want to die, Mooorty?" Rick dragged Morty's name out, the chair tipping back dangerously.

"Well, too bad!" Rick let go of the wobbling seat, the legs rocking violently and banging back to the linoleum.

Morty's stomach fell to his feet as the chair settled, his hands clawing the underside of his seat in an effort to keep himself grounded. He could swear that Rick heard his thundering heartbeat, pounding away in his chest. Rick backed up a few steps, and Morty hugged his legs as tremors shook his body, forgetting why he had even rebelled in the first place. Rick went through a few drawers, grabbing a fork and knife before slamming them all shut in quick succession.

Morty flinched as each cracked horribly.

* * *

Rick's furious expression melted into one of firm annoyance after a glance at his mess of a Morty; curled up and terrified on a kitchen chair, staring at him in pure trepidation. He sighed loudly, rolling his darkened eyes. "I'm not going to let ya off yourself," he insisted, cutting up the food on Morty's plate - much like one would for a child. _But that's all this Morty was wasn't he?_

Rick sawed through the food with more force than necessary, curling his lip as he continued. "So get over yourself cause you're gonna fucking eat," he glared over the plate. "And I. Can. Fucking. Make. You."

"No?" Morty weakly protested, uncertainty leaking into his voice. He couldn't really remember the subject, the anxiety had long since ripped his reasoning apart. Morty rocked a bit, gnawing the hem of his new shirt, completely dissociating from the argument.

The bleary look in Morty's eyes was the only thing that stopped Rick from dragging the kid over to the table by his hair and forcing food down his throat. _More violence would only make things worse. Especially when the kid was zoned out._ Instead, Rick grumbled to himself as he finished cutting up Morty's pancakes, drowning half of the plate in syrup after a moment of consideration.

"As I said before," Rick stated carefully, like he was speaking to a little kid. "This isn't negotiable." Morty didn't respond, hiding his face behind his legs.

"Morty," Rick snarled, hooking a leg around the kid's chair and sliding him close to the table. Morty looked at his plate for a few seconds, but when Rick tried to hand him the silverware, he buried his face in his hands.

 _This wasn't working_. Rick rubbed his eyes, mumbling. _This situation was unnerving to say the least…_ The kid's ability to completely distance himself, to change mindsets on a flip of a coin. One second, he was a raging, defiant, murderous teen - in the next he was lost in a world of his own, the mental capacity of a child. It was very concerning, and something itched in the back of Rick's mind that he ignored. _Fine. If he had to treat Morty like a baby to get him eating, he'd do it._

 _He couldn't lose another Morty. Not so soon…_

"I didn't do anything to the food," Rick coughed awkwardly.

Morty peeked at him from his hands, unable to comprehend the situation. Rick eyed him with rapt attention, Morty wrapping his arms around himself. _He was listening, maybe all of the words weren't getting through, but it was good enough._ Hunger was painful. It was a cold fact that well. _A cruel, drawn-out way to die._ The kid wasn't fooling anyone when he said he wasn't hungry, or when he said that he didn't want the food.

Rick would bet everything on how much this kid actually wanted to eat, refusing not to over some ingrained paranoia.

 _Most likely caused by his other Rick._ He thought grimly, not wanting to know what had happened to make this boy so scared of accepting food from him. Rick resisted the urge to dig out his flask to drown the thought.

Rick gave in, spearing some food on Morty's plate with the fork. The kid tracked his movements carefully, his legs finally dropping from the chair. "I don't know what's going on in your tiny, insignificant mind, but for Christ's sake pay attention, ya little freak, because this is the one time I'm fucking doing this for you."

Rick made sure Morty was watching, stuffing a forkful of pancake in his own mouth. The sweet food made him feel sick, he hadn't wanted to eat anything that morning; not after his drinking binge the previous night. His stomach rolled, and he swallowed quickly to continue speaking.

"There," Rick concluded, handing Morty the fork. He took it without hesitation. "See? Completely fine."

Morty nodded airily, Rick collapsing into the seat across from him to sip his hard coffee. _Because God knew he needed it after this morning_. _Was it really morning?_ Rick pondered, glancing at a clock on the wall behind Morty. _More like three-ish in the afternoon._

A bit of clarity was returning to the kid as he ate his pancakes drenched in syrup first, emptying his glass of juice silently. Rick wordlessly poured him another, thanking the universe when Morty didn't force him to taste test it too. Rick began to organize questions in his head, drumming his fingers on the table and bouncing his leg. _He had so much to ask this kid, but no guarantee that he would ever get answers._

Morty's movements became more coordinated as he finished his pancakes, shifting his goggles, the boy reached across the table for a bottle of ketchup as Rick got up to pour himself another cup of coffee. Morty clicked open the cap and sniffed the contents, amusing Rick with the concentrated expression painted on his face.

Rick almost dropped his coffee, quickly swiping the bottle from Morty after he dumped a large amount of the ketchup all over his food. " Hey!" Morty exclaimed as Rick put the container out of reach.

"So you - you're finally coming back to your senses. Good. Because I'd like to know what the fucking deal is with your weird mood swings."

"Nothing," Morty said, shoveling more food in his mouth to avoid the question.

Rick sat back down, brow furrowed at the boy's response. "Don't fucking lie to me, Morty," Rick ordered.

"I'm not-"

"One rule here kid," Rick cut him off. "If you don't want to answer me, then just say so. I don't like liars and you better bet your ass I've been playing the game long enough to see through whatever bullshit you can come up with." Rick took a long swig from his flask, tucking it back into his coat afterwards. "I won't press ya for answers, as long as I think you're not doin' nothing asinine or dangerous. Every man, alien - _creature_ …" Rick prattled. " deserves their right to privacy when it comes to thoughts." _Hell I don't even like people picking my mind,_ was left unsaid.

Morty picked up his half empty glass of juice, reeling back to hurl it at Rick.

Rick didn't flinch, but he did put his coffee down in preparation for another fight. "Do it Morty," he mocked, Morty halting with the glass held tightly in one hand. "I guarantee ya won't like the consequences, but if you think it's reallllly worth it…"

Rick left the threat vague, in a guilty hope that the boy would assume the worst. The most Rick would actually do, would be to tackle him to the ground and to ban him from glasses; but Morty didn't know that. Maybe that's why he felt a tightening in his chest, feeling bad in a way. It didn't matter though because Morty _did_ assume the worst - something that left implications Rick didn't want to think about - and slumped back down in his seat.

He never answered Rick's question, and Rick decided to drop it. _He'd figure it out himself._ Morty finished the rest of his food as Rick formulated more plans, getting up to dish himself more from the multiple containers on the counter. Morty kept his back to Rick as he did so with stiff, sluggish movements; waiting for the old man to stop him. Rick didn't, but the boy's deliberate slowness was catalogued among the many files in Rick's mind, to be dissected and connected to any new information.

Rick noticed Morty's fork that he had left on the table, tapping his foot impatiently. "Don't get used to forks kid, because after today, you'll be dealing with spoons," he said nonchalantly, breaking the thick atmosphere.

"What? Why?" Morty scrunched his face up as he added more food to his plate, the nervous shaking still evident in his fingers.

"Today was a special exception to the rule, I didn't even plan on giving ya one to begin with," Rick explained as Morty searched for wherever Rick had put the ketchup bottle. "I don't trust ya not to try and gouge my eyes out, so you get to eat shit with a spoon until I decide otherwise." Rick took a long swig from his flask, dumping more alcohol into his new cup of coffee.

He brought the flask up to the light, squinting at the shiny reflecting metal. "And from what I've seen, it's gonna be a very long time," Rick informed.

Morty didn't say anything about Rick's boycott, grabbing the ketchup bottle off of a high shelf and pouring more on the newly dished food. Rick chose not to snatch it from him this time around, not wanting to start another pointless argument. _He had questions that needed answers, and he wasn't going to compromise them by fighting over ketchup._

Rick waited until Morty had sat down to begin, staring listlessly at the bottle left on the counter. "So, I'm assuming ya don't have ketchup in your dimension," he half-asked half-stated.

"No," Morty responded distractedly, shoving another forkful of food in his mouth. "We don't have - I mean, we didn't have a lot of things you do," Morty stumbled over himself as he spoke.

Rick had to keep from smirking at finally getting some sort of answer, no matter how insignificant. _Ask meaningless junk, and then lead into the harder shit when he got comfortable. Perfect._ "Whaddya mean?" He asked, barely able to contain his excitement. His leg bounced wildly in anticipation.

Morty dropped his fork, frowning. "Oh. Umm," he seemed to be thinking, carefully choosing his words. "We have electric and water and a bunch of stuff, like radio, but we don't exactly have the -" Morty struggled to find a word to get his message across. " _Industrialization_ that you do." He still seemed unsure of his choice.

"Like, we kinda keep to ourselves if that makes sense." He looked over to Rick and the man waved his hand, signaling him to continue. "Everything we have is local… We don't have big cities or anything, so we make stuff ourselves. I don't mean my m-mom or anything, but the town." Rick noticed how the kid stuttered at the mention of his mother, picking up on the lack of Jerry's presence. _Interesting._

* * *

"No TV?" The Rick asked. Morty shook his head, finishing his second plate of food. _This Rick was so… Weird. He talked and talked and talked. Rambling about dumb things and asking questions like he cared about him. It was extremely upsetting for some reason._

"But I've watched a lot of television when I was with -" Morty cut his answer short, rewording it as he realized his mistake. "While I was in space," he ended solemnly, buried memories swirling into his head.

 _Sitting in empty hotel rooms, watching repeats of infomercials and pretending everything was okay. The musty smell of unwashed sheets and moldy, water-damaged walls. Mysterious carpet stains and the racket of cities outside the windows. Sometimes his Rick was passed out drunk in the bed, while he sat on the edge and watched mindless programs._

 _Sometimes he wasn't there at all and Morty didn't know when, or if he would even come back._

 _Sometimes he would even sit in the dirty bathrooms with his portable radio; mostly when his grandfather brought a lady friend back, or when he was in a drunken rage._

"-ck?" The man across the table asked, snapping him from his reverie.

"Sorry, I was…" Morty shoved his goggles up to rub tired eyes. "What did you say?" He mumbled with his palms digging into his eyes.

Morty knew that the Rick had caught on to his latest bout of complete disassociation, but the man didn't comment. "I asked," Rick pronounced clearly, making sure Morty hadn't faded out of reality again. "If ya wanted to talk about your Rick," the man said gently, if that was even remotely possible.

Morty almost laughed at the thought, and only restrained himself because it would probably make the Rick think he was crazier than he already was. _And make him interrogate you more._ He thought grimly.

 _A Rick being gentle… what an abstract idea._

 _No, he wasn't being soft because he was nice. It was because he wanted something._

"No," Morty quickly replied, his voice hardened. His eyes vacantly drifted over to the glass of juice, condensation rolling down the clear layer and to the wooden table.

The Rick hummed unhappily, rolling his shoulders and tilting his head back towards the ceiling. "So…" The word lingered in the air as he formulated another question. "Nightmare Dimension huh?"

"I-I don't know. I guess? That's what people keep telling me," Morty answered truthfully, his fingers playing with the hem of his shirt.

The Rick rocked in his seat, bringing the legs off of the ground as he stared into nothing. "Last night, when you were drugged up pretty good, ya started talking about monsters or some shit." He paused and looked over Morty. "A goddamn explanation would be nice right about now."

Morty scowled at him, fisting his shirt. "I don't owe y-you anything," he hissed.

Morty had hoped his tone would drop the subject, but it only seemed to amuse the Rick. The man let the legs of his chair slam back to the linoleum, a challenging spark in his darkened eyes. "Ooooh, is that so," he voiced condescendingly, crossing his arms. "You were just soooo scared of the dark last night, begging me to keep the lights on and not to leave you to the invisible monsters." Rick made the situation out as more dramatic than it was, goading Morty into an answer.

"N-no I didn't!" He defended, face hot from embarrassment.

Rick laughed at him. "Aw, is the wittle fourteen year old scared of the dark? You'd probably be crying for me and pissing yourself without a nightlight," he giggled.

"Shut up! It's not funny!"

Rick howled, shoulders shaking. "Okaaaay," he slurred sarcastically. "Ya gonna spill and tell me why a teenager is still crying about the boogeyman comin' ta get him." Rick folded his hands, a smile still plastered on his face.

"I-I don't want to," Morty whispered, hands fisted in his lap.

"Yeah? Well, maybe I don't want to give ya any lights tonight," Rick said casually.

Morty's head snapped up to the man. "You can't do that!" He shrieked desperately.

"Mmmm. I can," Rick assured, closing his eyes.

"No!" Morty yelled, but Rick didn't say anything else.

Morty's insecurities and anxiety bloomed as minutes passed in silence, finally breaking after the ticking of the clock behind his head became too loud. "Th-there were monsters in my dimension," his voice was barely audible, and he knew Rick was straining his ears to listen. "They liked the dark…"

Rick kept his eyes closed as Morty elaborated. "I haven't - I mean I don't," he stammered. "They kill people. It's why we don't take our suits off… It keeps them away. We can protect ourselves. But I don't have it anymore…" Morty almost sobbed out the last sentence, but knew to never show weakness in front of a Rick.

The man leaned forward, laying his arms on the table. His eyes opened, lazily drifting over Morty. "How bad are they?"

"What?" Morty's eyes burned.

Rick didn't say anything else, gesturing to his throat.

"S' fine," Morty said thickly, the wounds around his neck throbbing painfully. He reached up to feel the bandages.

Rick made a disapproving noise. "I wanna know how bad it is." The ' _it'_ was obvious to both of them. "I'm not an idiot, Morty. I know those bruises and shit ain't gonna magically stop where your sleeves happen to be."

Morty opened his mouth, a lie already at the tip of his tongue. _He thought that he was good at faking. Years of telling concerned passerbys that he fell or was in some kind of accident flashed across his mind. Don't tell, don't tell, dont tell!_

Rick noticed his reluctance, rambling some more. "Healed up my side last night." He rolled up his shirt to show a melted looking scar. "Not the best shit, and I'm not gonna lie, Morty, it burns like a motherfucker, but it's a stash I whipped up for emergencies." Rick took a long swig from his flask. "Don't recommend it," he said offhandedly. "No idea about the side effects, and the shit leaves a nasty scar. That's the - that's why I haven't messed with your injuries yet."

"It's not that bad," Morty replied. _He hadn't realized the man had fixed his side up. He had to pay better attention. He was getting sloppy, and that would only lead to bad things._

Rick grunted in agreement, taking another long pull from his flask. "Im-Imma give ya the benefit of the doubt this time, Morty." He stuffed the container back in his coat. "But if I figure out you're lyin' to me - and I can guarantee I will - I'll be beyond fucking pissed."

Morty rubbed the bruises on his arms, the sleeves of his new shirt concealing them. He shivered at Rick's threat, avoiding his glare by looking down at his empty plate. "Okay," he mumbled.

Rick got up from his chair, motioning for Morty to follow as he headed towards the living room. Morty did so without protest, his mind a jumbled heap of confusion.

 _Who was this man, and what did he want from him?_

* * *

They sat on the couch watching various television shows. Rick never stayed on a channel for long, quickly becoming bored and flipping past commercials. An awkward silence had issued forth since they'd left the kitchen, and frankly, Morty had nothing else to say. Rick kept asking questions, and when he didn't answer, the man rambled on about something entirely off-topic.

The laid back, casual demeanor did not fool Morty. He saw how the Rick reacted to every action he made; a subtle shift, and the man's eyes would dart over to him, dissecting his mind. It made him shudder and curl up as far away as he could, pressing deeply into the corner of the sofa.

Morty worried the collar of his new shirt, wondering when the fabric would become gnarled under his sharpened teeth. His Rick always got angry when he did this, cuffing him on the back of the head and calling him names. It's the reason that his Rick stopped buying him clothes. _Because what was the point if he was just gonna ruin them. What a baby. Gnawing on your shirt like a toddler. Pathetic._

Morty wasn't sure if his thoughts were his own anymore, or if they were long forgotten echoes of his Rick's melded into his brain. _God, he hated himself…_

He stared at the show on the TV. It was something about a team of weird aliens, and there were lots of explosions. The loud noises and splashes of blood mixed with bullets made him flinch. Many bad, traumatizing visions haunted him. Rick looked over to him to gauge his reactions, turning down the volume, before switching the show completely.

Morty breathed a sigh of relief, his palms sweating from withdrawals. _What he would do for a good hit right now._ He shook his head, dislodging the thought from his mind. Morty picked a stray strip of leather off of his worn shoes, watching the new program interestedly. It was a kid's cartoon about…. crying breakfast foods? Morty shrugged, enjoying the upbeat storyline as Rick began to fiddle with an invention he'd had stuffed in his coat.

He hated the fact that Rick was treating him like some fragile child, but the relaxed atmosphere was too perfect to disrupt with complaints. _He'd rather be watching a show about cartoon food friends, than something about death and war and murder anyways._ Rick kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, playing with some wires inside the gun he was working on. All was quiet, except for the ambience of the television and an occasional burp or mumble from Rick.

Morty wrapped his arms around his stomach, cramps plaguing him and making him nauseous. He'd definitely eaten too much; not used to taking in a bunch of food at once. Morty heard Rick let out a long sigh, the back of the gun clicked back together as he finished. The man checked one of his watches, before taking a long pull from his flask and sinking back into the couch.

"So," Rick said, trailing the walls with tired eyes. "We got a drop-off tonight, MoOOUUGHty," he belched. "Loyal customer too. Always pays upfront. Never hafta worry bout' him."

He waved his finished gun around. "Banned in twelve dimensions…" Rick tucked the weapon back into his coat, side-eying Morty suspiciously. "Not gonna tell ya what it does though." He clicked off the TV, cutting the show off in mid-sentence. Morty wouldn't admit that he was a little disappointed. He'd have to remember the name of it, so he could see the ending one day.

Rick removed his feet from the table, hunching forwards with his arms resting on his knees, hands dangling between his legs. He gazed at the blank screen, a passing question fluttering across his mind. Morty furrowed his brow as the Rick decided on whether or not to ask whatever idea popped into his head.

"What was I?"

"Wha-" Morty stuttered out as Rick cut him back off.

"You said that everyone in your dimension dresses up as shit to scare monsters away or something," Rick reiterated. "You're a bunny. So what was I?" He asked curiously, a spur of the moment question.

Morty ground his teeth, rage bubbling up in his heart. _He'd almost forgotten how much he loathed this man…_

After a couple of minutes, Rick seemed like he had given up on getting an answer; his back cracking as he got up from the couch. Just as he headed past it, intent on sauntering back to his room, Morty spoke up:

"He was a wolf," Morty spat, filling the word with more malice than Rick had thought possible.

Rick turned around, looking at Morty curiously from the behind the back of the sofa. Morty got to his knees, peering over it as he spoke in a demanding tone. "I want my suit back!" He bared his sharpened teeth, fingers digging into the fabric of the seat.

Rick sniffed at him. "Too bad." Morty hissed back. "Now come on, we got - we gotta get some sleep. We'll be out late tonight for my deal, ya little shit."

Rick barely had time to react as Morty flung himself off of the back of the couch, tackling him to the hard floor. They briefly grappled for each other; Morty trying to dig his fingers into Rick's eyes and struggling to get ahold of a stray limb to sink his razor-sharp teeth into. After a well-placed knee to the groin, Rick had lost all patience - ruthlessly pulling back the kid's goggles so that they slapped back into Morty's face. As he stumbled back with a stinging pain, Rick grabbed a fistful of brown hair. He flipped the boy over, pinning him to the ground and shoving the muzzle of his new gun to the kid's head.

Morty fought weakly, and Rick slammed his head into the floor with his free hand, digging the weapon firmly against the boy's head. Morty whimpered, breathing harshly. He felt sick, his vision blurring into a multitude of colors.

"Ya wanna try that again kid?" Rick growled harshly, his weight suffocating Morty and making the boy's injuries scream. "Cause I'd love to try out my new gun." Morty heard him cock the weapon.

Morty tried to respond, but all that came out was a strangled cry laced with agony. The weight immediately subsided, Rick jumping off of him as if he had been shocked. Morty gasped for air, his head light and his stomach rebelling. He curled in on himself, and couldn't stop the thick sobs from escaping his mouth as the full extent of his wounds bore down on him.

Rick vanished from his sight, and Morty suddenly felt very ill. A few seconds later, arms grabbed him around his middle, hauling him over a bucket. Morty heaved violently, emptying his stomach into the bin. It went on for a couple minutes, even after everything had been forced out and reduced him to a mess of weak sobs. Rick brushed his hair out of his face while he was sick, rubbing comforting circles into his back.

Morty felt _pathetic._

After spitting into the bin one last time, Morty sat back and buried his face in his knees to hide his shame. Rick got up and took the bucket somewhere, and Morty tried to scrub the tears away before he came back. _Stupid bastard._ He cried softly. _Great. Now he was gonna make fun of him for the rest of the day. You stupid, weak, pathetic excuse of a Morty._

 _But why did he care so much about what Rick thought of him?_ He cleaned off his wet goggles.

Rick shuffled back into the room, flask in hand. "Shouldn't have let ya eat so much," he muttered, talking to himself. Rick's feet appeared in front of Morty, and he bent down to offer a hand. Morty reluctantly took it, trying to lift himself up on shaky feet.

"Up, up, up," Rick encouraged, patting him on the back as he leaned heavily against the older man. Rick didn't shove him back to the floor like he expected, supporting most of his weight. "S'rry," he apologized cradling the cuts on his abdomen that were most likely bleeding through the bandages.

"Can ya make it up the stairs?" Before Morty could respond, Rick had swept him off of his feet. The man headed up the banister with long strides, talking the whole way. "Forgot about your ' _not bad injuries_ '," Rick snorted.

Morty moaned as his gravity was lost on the walk up the stairs, the man trying his best not to jostle him. They reached the top, and Rick set him down, keeping steadying hands on the boy's shoulders. "You good?" Morty could have sworn that concern was in his voice.

Morty nodded and the Rick opened the door to what he guessed was his own bedroom. "Get your blanket and pillow out of the room you were in last night." He straightened out his lab coat. "You're bunking with me from now on. Any complaints?" Morty shook his head and scurried off to retrieve the items on unsteady feet.

* * *

Morty stood outside the doorway, looking into Rick's room with his blanket and pillow tucked under his arms. The wall was a mess of wanted posters, blueprints, and crazy spiderwebs of colored yarn connecting them. His dresser was littered with half-finished inventions and drug paraphernalia that made Morty's fingers itch with need. Rick's cot was pushed up against the back wall, sheets and blanket sprawled out. There were no windows, which would be perfect in fending off monster attacks.

Morty stepped into the room with a frown, crushing an unnoticed beer can as the scent of stale alcohol filled his nostrils. It was a smell he had grown user to over the years. Morty felt out of place, watching Rick sift through boxes stacked in his closet. The man pulled out a sleeping bag and threw it haphazardly near his own bed, and Morty worked to flatten it out. He sat cross legged on the ugly green bag, draping his blanket over his shoulders as Rick continued to look for something.

"Fuck yeah!" Rick cheered, snatching the desired object from a box on the highest shelf. Morty was amazed that the pile hadn't collapsed on the old man. He snickered at the thought. _A Rick killed by falling junk. Wouldn't that be a fitting end._

Rick gave him a weird look, before holding up a night light shaped like a cat dressed in a space suit. Morty quirked a brow at him.

"My room doesn't have windows," Rick said. Morty gave him a pointed look. _Do you think I'm stupid?_ Rick crouched down to plug the plastic into an untouched socket, pink light filling the room. Rick grinned at the smiling cat, accomplished. "So this'll keep ya from screaming your fool head off when I shut the door." Rick slammed it shut for emphasis.

Morty pulled off his goggles, placing them beside his makeshift bed. "And it'll keep ya from trying to kill me in my sleep," Rick added, and Morty looked up in surprise. "Can't leave ya unsupervised while I'm sleepin', so you'll just have to deal with being roomies. I'm a light sleeper, remember that."

Rick's eyes followed Morty's to his desk. He stepped over the kid, collapsing onto his cot with a loud groan. "And don't even think about touching my shit, or I'll leave ya in a reality where everyone has mouths for eyes and only listen to Nickelback."

Morty disregarded the threat, scoffing as Rick rolled over with his back facing him. Morty pulled the covers over his head, burrowing into the layered sleeping bag underneath him. A long, content sigh escaped his lungs as he finally began to drift into sleep.

 _He just wanted to act like everything was fine for a few hours, before he woke up back inside this hell._ The soft pink light flooding the room and soothed his torrential mind.

"Why are you so scared of the dark," Rick asked tiredly. "I get the monster thing, but you've been out of that dimension for a while, haven't you?"

Morty pulled his covers back to blink sleepy eyes awake, looking blearily at the smiling space cat plugged into the wall. "I have," he answered with a yawn.

"How long?" Morty closed his eyes again.

"Years, I think. I can't remember things too well anymore." He could almost hear the cogs in Rick's mind processing the new information. It was obvious that the man wanted to know what Morty meant by ' _anymore'_ , but Rick didn't ask about it because he knew he would never get an answer.

Rick waited for Morty to elaborate further. Time passed, and Morty's eyes slowly opened, and he was sure that he'd lost consciousness for an unknown amount of time. He turned on his side, facing away from Rick and curling up into a tight ball.

"Rick?" He said into the darkness, his voice scratchy from sleep. "Are you still awake?"

Rick made a noise from up on his bed to confirm that he was still listening. Morty briefly wondered if the man really ever slept.

"Not all monsters are mindless creatures, waiting in the dark to kill you…" Morty stated critically. He heard Rick uncap his flask above him.

"What else is there?" Rick said in a hushed whisper, as if his voice would be too loud.

"People are a lot scarier," Morty replied in a muffled gasp, finally slipping into a dreamless void.

Rick didn't sleep that night.

* * *

A lot of foreshadowing in this chapter about Morty. Try and figure out the secret I'm keeping ;0

Review, like and favorite for more! If you have any questions about the story, don't be afraid to pop by my PM or tumblr. I go by the same account name and try to answer and reply to everyone. Also, I tend to post sneak peeks and in depth stuff on my tumblr, so don't miss out.

I am now taking requests for oneshots concerning Rick and Morty to help with writers block and to stay fresh. Send me a message if you want a specific story written, or have a prompt. Rules are no pairings or incest, and I have the right to deny any idea I'm uncomfortable with. Pocket mortys has a lot of potential and I'd love to hear what Ricks and mortys you can come up with!

PaigeK9, signing off!


	3. Arms Dealer

Warnings were in chapter 1 people, so you know what's coming.

A big thanks to my cocreator TheAmazingJoker and TheForeverKnight!

This chapter is dedicated to ask-pax from Tumblr and my loyal reviewer, kiatana,

Enjoy!

* * *

Arms Dealer

"Any tool is a weapon if you hold it right"

\- Ani Defranco

"Okay! I get it, now could ya just-"

The alien gurgled angrily in another language, waving its tentacles around, differentiating from pointing between the exit and a set menu on the bar counter. Rick ran a hand down his face, groaning loudly and fishing his wallet out of his back pocket. "Morty! The - they won't let us stay here unless we order somethin', and I'm not losing a good deal over this stick-in-the-mud, bouncer looking bartender guy."

Morty looked up from spot in a half-circled booth. He seemed dazed, his legs once again pulled up to his chest, shaking slightly as he chewed the collar of his shirt. Rick leaned back on the bar, resting his arms on the counter. He accepted the menu from the alien, glancing at it and deciphering the language. "What ya want kid?" Rick asked over the music echoing throughout the room, not surprised at Morty's lack of response.

The kid had been very lethargic since he'd woken up, completely quiet on the entire ride through space. Rick had asked more questions, and received no answers. Something was very… off about the boy. And he couldn't figure out what it was. After a few beats of silence Rick ordered for him, spinning around so he could grab a drink for himself.

The green, blobby bartender poured him a large mug of alien alcohol, accepting the loose coins that Rick dug out of the bottom of his wallet. He took a long swig of his drink, taking in the bar's atmosphere. It was a jazzy little place, tucked away in a forgotten corner of the city. A band played quietly on the other end, lights slowly changing colors, bathing the room in blues and reds. It was on the calmer, classier sides of things; much different from Rick's usual draw of seedy distributors, bathrooms full of druggies, dealers, and inevitable fist fights.

He drummed his fingers impatiently, scanning the bar for signs of his pickup. _Nothing_. A waiter with a long neck and three eyes slapped an unused tray on the counter, waltzing off with another order. Rick gripped the handle of his silver suitcase, dropping it on the bar after his fingers started to ache. _Damn he hated waiting_. It was dangerous to be selling a weapon in plain view, and he was wary of getting in a gunfight with his new Morty in the picture.

 _A weakness._ This kid was becoming more of a liability than an asset. _Maybe he could ditch him. The family hadn't met him yet, so he wouldn't catch hell for it. It was an appealing idea. Dropping him off on some planet or an unknown dimension. Walk out of here while the kid was out of his senses. It would be so easy._ He wondered if the Citadel would take him back. _If they said no, he could just dump the kid off on some desperate Rick. Yeah, that would work. He could go back to his old life and pretend this little mistake never happened._

Rick slammed his empty mug down on the counter, motioning for another. He groaned loudly, rubbing his face roughly. _He'd told himself the same thing when Beth was born, and see how that worked out? Plus, he doubted the Citadel would assign him another Morty if he conveniently 'lost' this one a day after getting him. And he sure as hell wasn't staying tethered to Earth for the rest of his miserable life._

He had a few projects to work on when he got home, and he hoped this Morty would be a little cooperative while he was working. _Maybe the kid would be interested in his inventions?_ It was always a possibility, considering Mortys inherent curiosity and their obnoxious need to please. _Attention starved dimwits, ready to do anything for a Rick because their parents definitely didn't care about them the way they should. It was sad, and made them easy to manipulate because Ricks gave them that feeling of worth, regardless of if it was positive._

Rick whirled around, deciding to ask in hopes that he may actually get an answer this time, only to find the booth empty. His heart stopped in his chest for a long moment, as time slowed. His mind raced as panic flooded his mind, along with worst case scenarios. Regardless of his previous convictions, he could not survive the responsibility of causing another version of his grandson to die. Just as he was about to rush forward to tear the entire bar… _no_ … planet apart, a reflection danced over his mug on the counter.

Rick barely had time to react, grabbing the plastic tray left on the bar and thrusting it in front of his face. A steak knife lodged itself halfway through the sheet, his arms recoiled from the sheer force behind the blow. Rick twisted the tray, the knife slipping out of the assailants hands. He lurched toward them, hauling them up by their shirt and slamming them back against the counter.

Rick was met with a flurry of weak coughs, Morty's terrified eyes locking with his.

 _He was beyond pissed._

"Are you SERIOUS, Morty!" Rick exclaimed, giving him a rough shake. The bar had gone quiet, the band stilled and attention draw to the two. "I can't have FIVE fucking SECONDS without ya trying to drive a knife through my skull!?"

"Go to hell!" Morty screeched back, a total turnaround from his previously calm demeanor. This kid was a ticking time-bomb. The kid kicked his feet, not touching the ground as Rick held him up by his shirt. When he realized he wasn't getting anywhere, he yelled back at Rick. "Let me go!"

Rick snarled in his face, Morty flinching as he lowered the boy to the floor. Rick switched out Morty's shirt in favor of grabbing him harshly by the arm, practically throwing him in the direction of the booth. The kid stumbled, nearly falling flat on his face as he spun around to bare his teeth at Rick. The man paid him no mind, pointing at the seat with a glare. "Sit the fuck down."

Morty's angry stare faltered for a moment, flickering towards the door. Rick followed it, immediately shutting down the boy's idea. "Don't you even think about it, Morty," His hands shook with repressed rage, itching to slap the kid silly for his transgression. "Seat. NOW." Rick pointed at the booth once more and Morty huffed, sliding back into the cushioned chair.

Rick slowly turned around the bar. "Who the FUCK gave him silverware, AFTER I specifically TOLD the manager not to," he hissed at the staff. A waitress resembling a purple gazelle quickly scooted to the back of the house, making Rick scoff. "Are we gonna make this mistake again?" He asked the bartender. The creature gurgled out an apology, offering him free drinks for the rest of the evening.

An appeased Rick snatched his suitcase from the counter, lividly climbing into the booth with his Morty. The kid kept his head down, fingering the hem of his shirt and moving as far away from Rick as possible. The man was having none of it, pulling Morty back towards him by a bruised wrist. The shocked, judgemental stares lingered for a while, making the boy shrink in the seat.

 _He didn't like the attention_. Rick realized, watching the boy pull his legs back up. The light shaking returned, and Rick's suspicions resurfaced. Before he could ask Morty about the compulsions, a waitress set a mug of beer down in front of him and handed Morty his food.

A silence descended upon the two. Rick took frequent swigs of his beer, watching Morty eat a bluish colored burger after drowning it in whatever sauce the bar offered. "Only eat about half of that, kid," he sighed, Morty looking up at him questioningly. "Don't want a repeat of yesterday," Rick elaborated. "Ya better not make yourself sick before I can make my drop."

Morty nodded absently, reaching for a milkshake Rick had ordered for him. He wasn't sure if the kid liked ice cream, but he got it anyways because it might keep the boy occupied while he made his deal. Rick leaned back against the seat, mind rolling as he closed his eyes. Memories of his grandson swirled in his head, and he couldn't help comparing this scruffy little monster to what he had lost.

 _His Morty would have asked about the mission, and subsequently bitched about Rick selling weapons to a hired killer._ Rick could faintly hear his grandson's voice in the back of his mind. ' _Oh jeez, Rick. I-I d-don't know, I think this is a bad idea.'_ He could envision Morty being weirded out by the oddly colored food and of himself launching into a long-winded explanation about something that didn't even matter.

That was something concerning. _Why the hell didn't this Morty question anything? Had he been conditioned to do so, or just put down so many times that he didn't even bother anymore. He'd been in space for a few years if he remembered correctly. Maybe he was just used to eating questionable shit?_ Rick opened his eyes, glancing at Morty. The boy was curled up on the seat, his back pressed against Rick so that the man could feel his tremors.

Something was seriously wrong. _But what was it?_ Morty sipped his drink silently, purposely facing away from Rick. He heaved a loud sigh, emptying his mug and motioning for another. _He really needed to be drunk right now._

"So, how's your drink kid?" Rick breathed out as the waitress brought him another mug. He took it without hesitation, downing more alcohol as he listened for the boy's response.

Morty hunched further forward, "S' good," he said in a small voice, the shaking faltering for a moment as he spoke.

Rick hummed back, signaling that he was listening as he watched his buyer stroll through the door. He waved the Gromflomite down, the assassin coming over and sitting down in the opposite side of the booth. The alien happily shook Rick's hand, his eyes sweeping over Morty and lingering for a bit.

"Hiya, Rick! It's been a long time!" Rick grumbled noncomittingly to the creature, quickly accepting the bag of money passed across the table. A few patrons stared, but didn't dare say anything against the man known as Rick Sanchez.

"Yeah, yeah. Just take the gun and get outta my face," Rick snapped as he noticed the assassine squinting red eyes at the sight of his Morty. _Please don't notice. I really don't want to talk about this right now._

"Hey Rick," he asked. _Fuck._ "What happened to your grandson? I could swear that this isn't the same kid. I know my stuff… You know the assassine biz comes with facial perception as a must." Morty sunk lower into the booth, his glass slipping out of his hands and smashing under the table as he frantically gripped the seat. The assassin didn't notice his distress, leaning uncomfortably over the table to peer at the kid.

"Back off," Rick warned briskly. "It's cause he's not. Don't ever bring it up again - or so help me - I'll never sell ya another gun again."

The Gromflomite waved his arms innocently. "Sorry Rick, didn't know it was a touchy subject is'all," he appeased. Rick pushed the suitcase towards him, the alien getting up to search through his pockets.

Rick facepalmed, leg bouncing impatiently as the creature grated every last one of his nerves. "Michael, I swear ta God-"

Before he could finish, he had already found a shiny holocard, giving it to a hesitant Morty. "Name's Krombopulos Michael; I'm an assassin that buys guns from your," he paused at Rick's seething glare. "Relative?" He guessed questioningly. Morty didn't respond, enthralled by the lighted card.

"I'm very discreet. I have no code of ethics. I will kill anyone, anywhere. Children, animals, old people, doesn't matter. I just love killing!" Morty recoiled from the excited explanation, his mouth a thin line as the blue light from the card reflected off of his goggles.

"Oh, dear fucking God… Get out of here man," Rick ordered tiredly. The alien checked the contents of the case, a skip in his step as he headed out of the bar.

"Bye Rick! See ya soon, buddy!" Rick let his head thump against the table, the door's bell ringing as the creature left. He didn't look at Morty as he held out his hand for the card.

"Give it," he bit out.

Morty didn't hand it over, stuffing it in his pocket. "No," he deadpanned. "It's mine. He gave it to me, so it's mine," he repeated like a child. Rick groaned and hit his head on the table a few more times, his mug clattering from the action.

"Morty, I'm not asking," he reiterated.

"I know."

"Goddamnit Morty, just give it!" He barked at the boy, lifting his head up. "It's not like K. Michael is gonna kill me for ya, you don't even have money to pay him with,"

"I don't care, it's mine!" Morty spat back.

Rick took a long swig from his mug, his mind buzzing pleasantly from the alcohol. "Fine! Keep your shitty glow card! See if I care, ya little fuck!" Morty seemed satisfied, leaning heavily on Rick.

They sat like this for a few minutes, both brooding. After Rick finished his last drink, he got up from the booth, Morty tumbling out after him from the lack of support. "Come on, let's get outta here," Rick said. The staff seemed relieved, and Rick waited up for the kid struggling to catch up to his long strides.

It reminded him of how much shorter this Morty was than his original, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.

Despite having drank four mugs of alien alcohol in the bar, he fished out his flask for a long swig that would drown his depressing thoughts. "Ya better not throw up in my ship, MoOOUGHty," Rick belched. Morty nodded, gnawing his shirt collar and looking back at the bar.

 _He hated this kid._

* * *

The ride back to Earth was quiet. Morty sat in the passenger seat, staring out into space. His trembling had become more violent, and he was now sweating profusely. Rick tapped the steering wheel, the ship rumbling under them. Things were escalating, bit by bit. It set him further on edge, driving him to take frequent swigs out of a bottle he'd stashed under his seat.

Something was very wrong, and Rick was tired of this little guessing game.

"Morty, ya better spill the beans because I'm fucking done with this - this," Rick took his hands off of the wheel to wave them as he spoke. "Secret shit. I'm sick of guessing what the hell is going on, and it's ending now."

Morty continued to stare out into the dark void of space, pursing his lips. His fingers twitched and Rick was sure that the boy was restraining from taking his shirt back into his mouth. "You're not hiding anything from me, so get over yourself before I make ya," Rick urged.

Morty swallowed, ripping his eyes away from the stars to look past Rick. "N-Nothing's going on," he replied. "Besides, you said I didn't have to answer anything I didn't want to."

"No." Rick gave him a hard stare, leg bouncing as he tried to maintain his patience. "I said that I wouldn't press ya for answers, if it wasn't relevant."

Rick took in Morty's shaking form in the seat beside him, sickly and anxiety ridden. A huge leap from the stone-cold killer he met the previous day. "And I'm pretty fucking sure that a complete overhaul in behavior isn't normal," Rick tone emanated suspiciousness. He slapped the wheel, maneuvering past an asteroid belt. "Christ Morty, how stupid do ya think I am!?" He gritted his teeth.

"I-I don't have to tell you anything," Morty snapped. He sat up in his seat, reminding Rick that the kid wasn't wearing his seatbelt. "You know exactly what's going on, y-you're just trying to make everything a big joke. Having me tell you what I need, what you've made me!" Morty pointed at him, voice shrill.

The ship approached Earth, and Rick swerved into the atmosphere, pushing his speed to reach home before a fight broke out while they were airborne.

"Fuck, kid," Rick offered him a concerned glance, focusing on landing without hitting power lines or trees. "I don't know what your on about. Just - just give me a hint, I don't have the same memories as your Rick," he appealed.

Morty crossed his arms, sinking back into his seat with an angry expression. "How about you give me my suit back?" He countered.

The ship stuttered across the ground as Rick landed, sending up a shower of sparks. "Ya know that's not gonna happen, Morty," he growled. Rick halted in front of the garage, the night sky melding into pinks as morning approached. "I'm serious kid, ya aren't getting out of this!" He yelled after the boy as Morty shoved his door open and exited the ship.

Rick followed, circling the vehicle to meet him. Morty flinched away as Rick grabbed his wrists, keeping him from fleeing. "What have I made ya? What are you talking about?" He gave Morty a shake when he didn't answer, only screaming back incoherently. "I'm trying to fucking help you, ya little shit!"

"LET GO!" Morty shrieked. He ducked his head and his eyes burned with tears. "P-Please, I need -" he finally sobbed, virtually collapsing with Rick as the only thing holding him up.

Shudders rocked the kid's body, and Rick was alarmed by the total deterioration of the boy's mental state. He lowered him to the cement, letting go of his arms. _He shouldn't care. Just leave him here, let him work out whatever the fuck was wrong._ Rick took a step back. "Morty," he said cautiously.

Before he could question him, Morty got to his feet and stumbled into the garage; taking a corner to curl up in. Rick approached him irritated at the kid's blatant waste of his valuable time. His inherent tendency to make everything harder than it was. Rick felt inside his lab coat for his flask, fingers brushing the portal gun as he searched. _It would be so easy. Just drop him off where the little freak wasn't his direct responsibility anymore._

He snatched his flask instead, uncapping it and taking a long pull.

Rick's mind worked. Morty sat in the corner shaking and hugging his knees, face hidden from the world. _He knew this. He'd seen this before. But what was it?_ Morty let out a pained cry, digging his fingers into his hair.

A terrifying thought swept his mind, and he was crouched next to Morty within seconds. _Had the bar poisoned him?_ Rick reached forward, tilting the boy's head back.

Thick lines of blood trailed from the kids nostrils.

"Shit!" Rick muttered loudly, rushing to his workbench for something that could purge whatever poison entered the kid's system. He threw old inventions off of the desk, ripping through plans and discarding empty pill bottles.

"R-Rick?" Morty rasped, before vomiting on the floor. "I-I, please, I need… Please," he begged, retching again.

Rick payed no mind to the mess, or to the awful smell of stomach acid. He opened a cupboard and frantically read labels of different drugs. "You're gonna be fine kid," he said, trying to keep the panic from his voice. "I think someone slipped ya-" he paused mid sentence, dropping a glass beaker. It shattered on the garage floor.

 _He was sick before he ate, so he couldn't have been drugged. Shaking, nausea, vomiting, hallucinations? Cold sweats and aggression? How did this all connect? Where had he seen this before?_ Images of crooked hotels, alleyways full of homeless drug addicts, and remnants of his own escapades backstage after playing for alien crowds. The blissful highs and tragic withdrawals that always followed. Passing around a cocktail of pills and shooting up with dirty needles. A distant, yet far away memory in his mind's eye.

Rick's thoughts whirled, puzzle pieces fitting into place and displaying a tragic new picture. His legs shook as he fell into his swivel chair, burying his face in his hands. The symptoms hit him like a train, sending him sprawling into a pit of pure self-loathing.

"R-Rick," Morty stuttered. "It hurts."

Rick felt numb, getting up rigidly walking to his mess of a Morty _. Shame. Hell, he didn't think that he could hate himself anymore than he already did._ He crouched down to the kid's level, shoving back the boy's sleeves. Morty didn't fight back, blood dripping down his face and vomit staining his shirt. There, in the bend of Morty's elbow and dotting the burns around his throat, were small pinpricks.

Needle marks.

Rick didn't know what to say. "I'm sorry, Morty." It was probably one of the most sincere things he'd ever said in his long life. "Please, I need you to tell me what you took…"

Morty's head lolled to the side, snapping Rick into action. He lifted the boy off the the cement, rushing out of the garage. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ Flickers of anger, fear, and pity lit his mind.

It all came together in one startling truth.

This kid's previous Rick had gotten him hooked on drugs, and now without them, the boy could die from the withdrawals.

* * *

Cliffhanger for you!

I've been dropping hints leading up to this reveal since chapter one! Excited? Well please review for more!

How will Rick deal with this revelation? Will Morty be okay? Wtf is gong on? ALL in the next chapter!

Seriously tho. I need reviews my crops are dying ;-;


	4. Xax'ic, Misery, and Understanding

Yay! New Chapter! Sorry for the long wait! My computer died, I lost internet for a month, and then college bitch slapped me into the sun. It was really hard to get back into this after so long, but I had a ton of supportive comments to help! So thank you everyone!

This chapter is dedicated to saccharinepeccadillo, who did some amazing fanart for this fic on tumblr! Seriously! Go check it out!

A big thanks to my beta Theforeverknight and theamazingjoker!

WARNING: Harsh, triggering content in this chapter! so beware!

* * *

Xax'ic, Misery, and Understanding

" _The constant reminders, the constant regrets"_

 _-This is Ivy League_

Pain was a constant in his life. One of the only things that he could count on to maintain structure and stability. Morty knew that being happy wasn't assured; along with places of residents, access to food, and even basic safety. From beatings, to starvation, electric shocks, and field injuries… The list never seemed to end. Everything was always so unstable. Many nights were spent on other worlds, questioning what awaited him in the morning. _Would he eat today? Would Rick come back this time? Should he use the money Rick left him for Xax'ic or food?_

The last question wasn't ever debated much. He'd always use the alien cash for shady deals behind buildings. Morty's need for the substance his grandfather forced on him always outweighed hunger. Besides, food could be pilfered from shops or found in garbage cans. There were times he slept in boxes or doorways when he ran out of money, cementing his fear of the dark and what waited for him inside of it.

Since he was six, he had slept with a knife and razor gloves. After living with his Rick, he learned to value the weapons even more.

Searing heat flowed through his veins, his insides screaming in agony. Morty snorted through the blood pouring from his nose, sending himself into a weak coughing fit. He could vaguely taste copper in the back of his throat, as his head filled with white noise and cotton. Morty was being carried, to where, he had no clue. He tried to open his eyes as his head flopped uselessly, blurs of colors flashing so vibrantly that he had to snap them shut again.

Morty wasn't sure if he was conscious or not, but as before, consistency remained a distant dream in a sea of uncertainty.

Someone was talking to him, though he couldn't make out the words. Whoever's voice it was sounded concerned and inconvenienced at the same time, making him even more confused. It didn't really matter, the pain was too numbing for him to care. No one ever bothered to care about him, so why should he even try when there was so much _fire_ … So much _hurt_ , burning him alive.

Time was an allusion that sent him sprawling back into another untapped memory. It was just as clogged and warped compared to his reality, flushing to multiple scenarios that he remembered with little clarity.

Morty recalled times when his grandfather would leave him alone on other planets for days. He always left money or drugs with Morty, but they were never enough to last him until the man's return. The longest period he was abandoned lasted over two weeks, and was probably the most desperate. From the first incident where his Rick had left him, he had taught himself how to stretch the money out as far as he could. Unrelated images of empty cupboards and bare fridges flowed through his hazy mind.

Morty remembered running out of money on the sixth day, as Rick had only left a few crumpled notes on the hotel's bed. The only thing that helped to sate the hunger pains was the generous amount of Xax'ic Rick had supplied him with. He wasn't sure why he was recalling such a horrible memory, but it kept replaying, even as he was lowered onto cold linoleum.

He was kicked out of the hotel after the first week, left without money and food. Things weren't so awful at first, considering that he had a duffel full of needles and the alien city had a generous supply of full dumpsters to forage from. The problems arose during the long, sleepless nights.

Morty's first night in a stairwell scarred him, as it was his first, and only sexual encounter. He'd escaped relatively unscathed, violently ripping apart his attacker less than a minute after he had been grabbed. But it still shook him to the point of slashing anyone who dared to touch him from that day forward.

The next few days passed in a blur of drugs and food poisoning, up until he finally ran out of Xax'ic.

The last two days were the closest he had ever come to full withdrawals. The cravings had almost driven him to do shameful things in exchange for any type of relief from the pain. The assault in the stairwell had completely traumatized him, but it had also spurred the realization that he could sell himself if Rick never came back. Luckily, Rick had returned, though without explanation. No apologies were exchanged, but the drugs Morty was gifted with upon his arrival made up for it.

Now, he was slipping into the agonizing withdrawal he had fought so hard to repress in previous times. That he had almost prostituted himself to prevent. His Rick's warnings against foregoing the drugs played out like a movie on repeat, sparking terror amongst the searing pain. _But why now?_ He asked himself. _After all these years of struggling to feed the habit, why did he feel like doing this to himself now?_

Morty wasn't sure of the answer.

He was jolted back to awareness by a spray of freezing water. Morty choked, struggling to breathe as hands shook his shoulders. Through doubled vision and obscured goggles, he could see Rick shouting something that couldn't get past the ringing in his ears. Morty was still dazed when a rush of fresh blood came out of his mouth in a gush, mixing with the water in the tub.

Suddenly, his head snapped to the side and clarity rushed back into his mind. The stinging pain in his cheek, the sounds of the shower, Rick's hysteria, and cleared sight. Morty took another gulp of air, raising a shaky hand to his reddening cheek. They looked at each other for a long minute, Rick's panicked expression boring into his mind.

In an instant, Rick had hauled him halfway out of the tub by his shirt, concern melting into barely repressed rage. Morty went slack against his grip, the searing heat returning without freezing water to sooth the pain.

"W-What the fuck did ya take, you little bastard!?" Rick screamed in his face, roughly shaking him.

Morty opened his mouth to speak, but only a startled squeak made it past his lips. He could taste blood, as it started to drip from his nose without the water to wash it away. He shivered against the cold, yet his insides burned in agony. All he could offer the man was a series of sobs. He dropped his head in shame.

Morty couldn't bear to look at Rick anymore. The front of the man's shirt was coated with vomit and smears of blood; both from Morty. He was going to be so angry. _He was going to hurt him. Make him suffer. He was so pathetic, so useless, so-_

Morty dug his fingers into wet hair, yanking at the strands and curling back under the spray of cold water. He heard the squealing of the tap as Rick leaned over the tub to shut the shower off. The water stopped, and Morty buried his face into the wet fabric covering his knees. Everything hurt, his insides begging for help as they recoiled.

"What did you take, Morty," Rick asked in a low, furious voice.

Morty didn't answer, and Rick started yelling again. The man got up and flipped over anything in the bathroom that hadn't been anchored to the floor, smashing a clear glass against the far wall. After repeatedly kicking a small waste bin into plastic splinters, he balled up his fists and started to shout at Morty.

"What the hell did you take!?" Rick repeated, dropping back to a crouch in front of the tub. "Morty, I need ta know," he stated somewhat desperate in voice. Morty looked up, shaking from the cold.

Rick gripped the edge of the tub glaring down at the boy. "Ya - you know-" he stumbled over his words, pausing to take a few generous gulps from his flask. "You stopped breathing, ya little fuck!" Rick waved his arms wildly. "I need to know what the hell your Rick shot you up with! For fuck's sake Morty you - you're bleeding! You could die!" He stressed, using the soaking sleeve of his ruined lab coat to scrub away some of the blood covering the boy's face.

Morty flinched violently at the contact, pushing Rick's arm away. Another stab of pain shot through his body, sending more blood out of his mouth. "Xax'ic," he rasped, throat dry and scratchy.

There was a long exhale from Rick, as the man lifted the boy up from under his arms and settled him back into the tub. "Okay," Rick said quietly, standing and giving Morty a glimpse of the wet patches covering his knees. He closed his eyes, hearing Rick uncap his flask and take more gulps. "I-I just," he paused with uncertainty lacing his stutters. "Just stay here, I got some shit in the garage that should wash out the withdrawals and get whatever's left outta your system." Morty listened as Rick tried to keep his voice steady, but noticed the slight waver.

With that he withdrew from the bathroom casually, taking two tries to actually grab the door knob. Morty heard how the moderately-slow footsteps immediately dissolved into a full sprint the second he was out of sight. He shakily pushed some of his wet hair out of his face, his fingers now numb. A crashing sound vibrated the house, followed by cursing, and Morty guessed that the Rick had fallen down the stairs in his haste.

He tried to shake the feeling back into his limbs, but the only thing that the movement caused was for black dots to appear in his vision. Morty felt very far away; the pain had completely vanished, which made him more frightened than relieved. He opened and closed his hands, staring between them without feeling anything but the need for a high. _Was he going into shock?_

 _He could fix this. Everything was going to be fine, and then he was going to kill this Rick, and… then what? What was he without a Rick?_ Morty shoved the traitorous thoughts out of his head, bracing himself against the edge of the tub and trying to haul himself up _because he could do this. He didn't need anyone. Not a mom, or a dad, or a sister, and definitely not a Rick._

He managed to get to his feet, only to slip and take down the entire shower curtain with him.

Little plastic rings from the ruined cloth scattered across the linoleum and skipped into the bottom of the bloody tub. Morty didn't let this deter him, lifting himself back up and out of the bath. He sat with his back to the sink after his sight went completely black for a startling minute, catching his labored breath. The bandages on his stomach and around his throat were sopping wet, and began to peel away with the water. Frustrated, he ripped the soggy material away; dumping it on the floor. _If he could just get that high, it might counteract the withdrawals._

It was an irrational idea, born from desperation and a deep seated fear. _Because he had to try something because he was bleeding out and it hurt and he was gonna die._

For a final time, he gripped the edge of the sink and managed to get to his feet. The _need_ was still burning deep in his veins, even if it was somewhat numbed. There was a shocking moment when he looked into the mirror and _Saw._ Saw what he had become, what his grandfather had made him. A flushed face surrounded by wet hair, blood dripping from his nostrils and staining his shirt. A too thin, weak boy with wet bandage still clinging to his fingers. Shaking with the habits of a drug addict who would be lucky to make it to his twenty-first birthday.

The kind of kid you find dead in a alley with a needle in his arm.

 _Because nobody cared about another boy on the streets._

Morty couldn't stop the broken sound that slipped out, or the following sobs that caused his shoulders to shake. _He was so, so tired._ But he kept going because _he didn't want to die, not like this, not in a bathroom covered in blood._ Morty shakily opened the bathroom cabinet, snatching different pill bottles off of the shelf and struggling to read the labels with blurred vision.

The white bottles contained boring things that would do nothing for him, the boxes housed useless cold and allergy medication, and _finally the orange bottles_ with their heavy painkillers and alien symbols that surely meant that Rick had nicked them for whatever reasons. _If any._ He mentally added. Ricks didn't need a reason for doing anything, they just _did_ because they _could._ That was reason enough.

Morty scoffed at his sudden introspection _because now wasn't the time._ He tried to work the child-proof caps with clumsy, wet hands, but couldn't get a proper grip with the numbness in his fingers. He gave up quickly, sinking sharpened teeth into the cap instead, popping it off and mutilating the plastic. Morty was just about to down a handful of wet pills, when another sharp pain shot through his abdomen.

He curled into himself, the pills scattering as he dropped to his knees.

 _Not now! Not when he was so close…_

Another searing stab brought him forward, his head now resting on the cold linoleum. The fire returned to light up his blood, before everything went dark.

* * *

Morty woke up in a bed, and it only took a moment to realize where he was. He curled into a tight ball, hugging the blankets close. He could hear Rick working on something behind him, the spark of tools lighting up the walls occasionally. He really, really wanted to go back to sleep, or at least pretend he was still unconscious so he wouldn't have to face Rick. Morty couldn't stop his breath from hitching, and he hoped that the man wouldn't notice.

 _Please, please don't notice. I can't do this, not again, not right now. Just let him have tonight..._

When the steady movement of tools paused, Morty knew that Rick realized that he was awake.

"I-I'm sorry," Morty stumbled because he didn't know what else to say. Sometimes placating his old Rick with pathetic words helped.

The Rick stayed silent, and Morty didn't hear the clanking of items that would show he was resuming his work. He squeezed his eyes shut, still feeling awful despite another dose. The spasms, the shaking… it was still here and he didn't know why. His mind was also very clear which wasn't normal either. He sat up to look at Rick, who was bent over his desk. He had his eyes closed, rubbing them with hunched shoulders. Rick's welder sat next to him, still plugged into a shotty socket in the wall.

The man finally dropped his arm, staring into nothing. "And which part are ya sorry for?" Rick growled. "The part where I had to resuscitate you and waste my valuable time keeping your entire lymphatic system from collapsing, or the part where you lied to me?" Rick's leg bounced erratically as he spoke, becoming more heated with each word.

"I don't know," Morty replied weakly. "I-I just," he mumbled, making Rick angrier.

He heard a crash, which he assumed was the welder, as Rick swept it off of his desk. "Just what, Morty!?" Rick yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls of the small room.

Morty wasn't sure if he could take the chance of sliding under the bed or if he could possibly make it to the door before Rick grabbed him, so he stayed still with a death grip on the blanket. He also wasn't sure if Rick wanted an answer, but the drumming of the man's fingers on his desk urged him forward. "P-Please," he said quietly. "Please, don't hurt me."

It was a desperate plea, one that almost never worked with his old Rick, because apologies never meant anything. They were just words that couldn't undo the actions behind them. Rick opened his mouth to respond, but Morty cut him off. "I-I'm sorry I threw up on you, and wasted your time, and broke the shower curtain, and-"

"Okay, okay," Rick waved him off, but he couldn't stop bumbling. "Shut the fuck up, Morty!" He shouted when the boy kept going. Morty quieted, the periodic twitching still rocking his body.

He listened as Rick took a long swig from a bottle on his desk, looking him over. "Do ya even know how close you were to dying?" Rick spat. He didn't wait for Morty to answer, as he launched into an explanation. "Xax'ic's the kind of drug that dealers give to hookers so they can't run away. The kind of shit the black market uses in slave rings." Rick's leg stopped bouncing as he leaned back in his chair, focusing on the label of his liquor bottle.

"Why? Outta all the drugs in the universe, did ya want to shoot up with this shit?" Rick asked. "No… Why did your Rick want to get you hooked on this shit?" He rephrased, now glaring at the glass in his hand.

Morty wasn't sure how to respond, so he just picked at a stray thread in the blanket. "I wanted it." He lied. "He didn't make me take it, I wanted it." Years of being told not to tell rang through his head, pushing him back into lazy, half-hearted lies that everyone always believed. _Because it was easier to believe a pretty lie, than to face a sad truth. Easier to send him on his way then to help him._

Rick took a long swig from the bottle. "Bullshit," he muttered, looking Morty over with narrowed eyes. "Do you even know what a half-assed drug like that would've done to ya if I hadn't been there to save you?" Rick tried to slide his chair back, briefly forgetting that it didn't have wheels like his swivel chair in the garage. When it scraped across the floor, he grumbled something to himself and got up to dig through a pile of junk in the corner.

Morty watched, mostly simmering from being lectured. The fear seemed to be stripped away from his conscious as he became more aware; replaced with the old hatred and anger at being treated like he was stupid. "I know-"

"Obviously you don't, or ya wouldn't have been a cold shower away from death," Rick interrupted, pulling a small whiteboard from the pile and crouching down to look for a marker.

"But I-"

"Nope," Rick cut him off. "I'm done. I'm not listening to anything ya have to say, because you keep lying to me. You're credibility is shit, so I have no reason to listen to you. It's a waste of my time, which you already pissed away with this drug crap."

Morty twitched at Rick's disregard for him, picking at the damp shirt that still clung to his body. _Fine_. It was easier like this anyways. He could go back to being seen and not heard, he'd lived with it for a long time. Still, it upset him on a deeper level for some reason. The thought of not having anyone to talk to again hurt in a way he couldn't explain. He'd known this man for a day, and they'd probably had more conversation than in the years he spent with his grandfather.

"Fuck yes," Rick huffed, finding a red marker at the bottom of his mess. Rick collapsed into his chair, using his teeth to pop the cap off of the marker. "Okay, I'm going to show how this shitty drug works, so you can see how close you came to keeling over from your own stupidity."

"I said that I know-"

"Tough." Rick scribbled on the board, flipping it to show Morty a crude drawing. It was a clear drawing of him, but with a larger head, the word 'Idiot' scrawled on his forehead.

"Is that supposed to be me?" Morty growled, crossing his arms.

Rick turned the board back around to continue his depiction, waving his hand dismissively. "A-Any resemblance to living people - uh, _likeness?_ Whatever they play before shitty TV movies to avoid copyright strikes." Morty felt confused, the sounds of the squeaking marker on the whiteboard and Rick's nonsensical grumbles filling the small space.

"Ya know?" Rick rambled. "Like when they swap the names of generic cereals or soda in the movies to something like Frosted O's or - I don't know why am I even trying to explain this shit to you." His brow furrowed as he rubbed out a part of his drawing with the edge of his sleeve, reworking his picture.

Morty guessed that Rick had started to run away with his thoughts, and _may_ or _may not_ have begun to doodle a diagram of network diagraphics to explain whatever point he was trying to make about big corporations or some other related conspiracy. He vaguely wanted to call Rick out on it, but looking at the old track marks on his arm told him that this was not the time to bait the man.

 _Not when he'd fucked up so bad…_

"Look, Morty," Rick sighed, the marker stilling on the board. "I-I've been around the block - _no wait_ \- I'm practically a permanent resident in Substance Abuse Town, riding around said block to get to work every day." He gave Morty a thoughtful stare before continuing. "But I never even fucked with the crap you've been pissing with. That should give ya some sort of clue about what this talk is gonna be about," Rick finished.

The Rick turned the board around, a complex mess of ideas splayed around the tiny figure in the middle. Morty doubted that the diagram would be legible to anyone other than Rick, considering how the man tended to throw out random thoughts in an order only perceivable to him. Morty kept his attention on the man, even though he wanted no part of the conversation about things he already knew.

Rick tapped the edge of the slate with his marker, his leg bouncing rapidly with barely contained thoughts. "Okay, this is you," he said, pointing to the figure in the center.

"You just said that it wasn't me, and ended up explaining why people get sued by…" Morty paused, thinking. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders as he sat up on the bed. "Actually, I'm not sure about what point you were trying to make."

"Would you quit arguing with me about things that don't even matter?" Rick halfheartedly threw the marker in the direction of his cot, the utensil weakly bouncing off the side of the mattress. "This isn't a joke, kid! You almost died because ya didn't even bother to say 'Hey Rick, maybe you should know, I'm on a drug that causes organ failure if I don't shoot up every seven to ten days!'" He yelled at Morty, tossing the whiteboard down.

"I didn't say it was a joke, you ass! Stop talking down to me!" Morty shouted back angrily, his fingers unconsciously tracing the marks on his arms.

Rick rubbed his face, groaning. "For God's sake, Morty! You have no idea what I went through to save you! I had to repurpose that fucking throw away healing cream into a viable, intravenous infusion. Do you know how hard that was?"

"Well, I didn't ask for your help," Morty hissed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Morty sat quietly as Rick clenched and unclenched his hands, erratically waving his arms about. "If ya weren't so fucking pathetic you wouldn't need my help, you ungrateful little shit! You may think you - you're a big kid Morty; that cause you killed your Rick that you can take care of yourself?"

He got up from his chair, shaking with anger. In a few short steps he was towering over Morty, matching his glare as the boy refused to back down. "Newsflash! You're only fourteen! A baby compared to me, and every other species in the universe," Rick said, punctuating each point with a jab to Morty's chest. "I'm treating ya good right now; like the kid you are. So ya wanna play adult games? Let's play 'What Would Happen to a Lost Kid in Space.'"

"First off - if you're even lucky enough to get dropped off on a planet that's atmospheres not comprised of carbon dioxide or dominated by rat people - You'll aimlessly wander the streets without any way of contacting help because you're a dum-dum who can only speak English." Rick pushed Morty back down on the bed, pacing back and forth with his arms behind his back. "Then, if you aren't kidnapped and sold into slavery or prostitution, you'll probably be picked up by the Galactic Federation's policing unit. They'll scan you for your DNA signature to find out where your parents are, realise that you're _MY_ grandson; Rick Sanchez, number one on their most wanted list! Then they will most likely torture you to figure out my location - which I can guarantee that you won't know - and regardless of what you say or do, they won't believe ya. They won't belive that you killed your Rick, that you were abandoned there, or if you managed to escape me."

"D-Do you honestly think that they'll care that you're only a stupid kid? That an assassin like Micheals is gonna care that you're a kid? T-That anyone's gonna blink when you're thrown into slavery or worse? Earth is the best you've got right now. I'm the best you've got right now! So deal with it!" Rick shook Morty's shoulders, causing him to flinch back. "For fucks sake, at least my grandson's balls dropped. You haven't even hit puberty yet! You're the size of a ten year old, Morty!"

Morty slapped Rick's hands away, stumbling towards the door. He blinked away the burning sensation in his eyes, grateful for the goggles to mask it. "D-Don't try to act like you know me!" He said somewhat desperately.

"I know enough about ya to figure out how long you'd last out there, Morty! You're blind in the sun, you're scared of the dark, and you struggle with drug addiction! You wouldn't last a second out there. What would make you think that you could? Because you - you just can't, Morty," Rick said as he began to wind down. "Y-You're just an abused little boy who doesn't know any better," He sighed, sitting back down.

Morty stopped, gripping the doorknob so tight that his fingers trembled. "I-I can take care of myself…" he insisted. "I've survived out there before; all by myself. Because you left me!" he accused glaring at Rick. "Y-You always left me! A-All alone without any-anything!" Tears began to fill up his goggles.

"I-I had to find my way all on my own! I don't need you! I don't need anyone!" Morty cried, sniffling as he pushed the goggles up so he could wipe his eyes. "W-Why am I crying? I-I don't understand!" Morty sobbed at himself.

"My guess is because I flushed the Xax'ic out of your system," Rick said somewhere behind Morty.

Before he could comprehend what was happening, a solid form was pressed against his back, arms loosely wrapping themselves around his collarbone. Morty couldn't stop the random spasms that wracked his body from the sudden contact, heat seeping into his damp form from Rick. "T-This is a one time thing, kid! So don't get used to it because it'd never, ever happening again. And you're never gonna mention it again either cause I'm only doing this so-so you'll stop cryin' like a fucking baby."

Rick removed the goggle from Morty's head, slouching over him so he could wipe them off with his lab coat. "Xax'ic's a drug used by slavers, prostitutes, and sometimes in war drafts. It helps repress emotions, pain, and even hunger… basically anything that can inconvenience an operation. The highs not even that great," he added, squinting at the smeared lenses as he rambled.

"It makes people do what you want. Makes you more susceptible to manipulation. Hell, it's a drug of choice because you don't need to inject it every day like other addictive substances. Saves money for the bigwigs in charge. What I'm trying to say, is that people don't take this drug for fun. They take it because someone makes them." Rick handed the goggles back down to Morty, who only sniffled in response.

"S-So I know for a fact that your Rick got you hooked," he concluded, Morty opening his mouth to argue, but Rick cut him off. "And ya don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. The shit is outta your system, so that's all that matters."

"H-How?" Morty asked meekly, twitching a bit.

"Already told ya," Rick said, waving him off. "I flushed it out of your system. You don't think I invented a secret serum to cure drug addiction? I'm a Grade A substance abuser, Morty. I can't go around getting hooked to every sparkly powder I snort at parties."

The man released Morty, flopping back on his bed. Morty rubbed his arm, the lingering warmth tingling his spine as he glanced back at Rick. "The hard part was reverse engeneering that crappy cream to stop your internal bleeding," He admitted, fishing his flask out of his coat. "Xax'ic's a tricky drug. When you stop taking it, the shit left in your system becomes corrosive."

Rick took a long swig from his flask before continuing. "I-It absorbs into your stomach lining and begins to basically rip apart your digestive tract; hence your bloody vomit and abdominal cramps. After that, your immune system starts to panic and attacks itself, causing rapid organ failure and cardiac arrest. You made it to the heart-stopping part, so you were extremely close to keeling over, MoOOUUrty," he belched. "L-Like, if Micheals were late or if we took a detour home - you'd be dead." Rick plainly stated, staring at his flask with an indescribable expression.  
Morty bit his lip, mindful of his sharpened teeth as another tear welled up. "What about the…" He wasn't sure how to describe it. The torrent of emotions that rocked him to his very core. Morty hadn't cried in a long time, not before he met this Rick, and definitely not when things were bad with his old one.

Rick grunted, grabbing a bottle from the side of his bed. "Xax'ic helps repress your emotions… what you feel, what you think. So I think you're just not used to what it's like to deal with normal shit." He unscrewed the cap, gulping from the new container. "In layman's terms: you've been on Xax'ic so long that you don't know how to handle your emotions anymore."

"O-Oh," Morty mumbled, scrubbing at his eyes again. "S-So now what?"

Rick hummed, pausing in his drinking. "Get a shower. We got a mission, and you smell like puke and blood."

"I-I meant-" Morty started, but trailed off. He gave one last look at Rick, staring up at the ceiling while taking frequent swigs from his bottle. "Okay…" Morty relented, hurrying out of the room. He shut the door quietly behind him, his fingers resting on the knob and his mind racing as it tried to piece together everything that happened.

 _He's lying, he's lying, he's LYING! He doesn't care about you! You're just a shield! A pathetic shield that doesn't mean anything! If I die he'll just get another Morty!_

 _But he hugged you…_

Morty slammed the door to the spare room, punching the door frame over and over.

 _He doesn't want you, he just needs your brain waves to mask his!_

Morty's fist slammed into the wood again, his knuckles becoming bloody as his shoulders shook with repressed sobs.

 _Because…_

 _Because I'm nothing…_

Morty sunk to the floor, curling up in a tight ball as his insecurities overwhelmed him. He hoped that Rick couldn't hear him crying.

* * *

Rick laid back on his bed, his legs hanging off of the side as he emptied the glass in hand, blindly reaching under his bed for another bottle. His fingers grazed cold crystal, and he grabbed the new drink, not bothering to check the alien label. He heard the sniffling from the next room over, cursing the thin walls. Rick nursed the strong alcohol, not surprised at the potency of the foreign whisky.

Rick stared at the ceiling, thinking deeply.

After a few minutes of listening to Morty's sobs, there was an extended silence before he heard the groans of the bathroom pipes as the shower was turned on.

He belched, raising his glass towards the ceiling in a mock toast as drool dripped down his chin.

"Wubba lubba dub dub," Rick slurred drunkenly.

* * *

I'm not crying you're crying!

Next chapter we get some answers and a better time than this shit.

Review and favorite for more! If you have any questions or ideas for other fics, pop by my PM or my Tumblr, where I post sneak peeks of new chapters! Feel free to drop fanart or do spin-offs, just send me the link so I can cry over them!

Thank you guys for everything!


	5. Glitterfreeze

I want to thank everyone for the awesome support I've gotten from the last chapter and the equally awesome fanart!

Seriously, guys, I love your fanart!

Also, HOLY HELL this chapter is almost 30 pages long on Google Docs and busting 10,000 words. This fic is officially 103 pages long and giving me an existential crisis. And Google Docs on that note, because my fic is so long it keeps glitching out GOOGLE FRICKIN DOCS and imma havta start a new document.

A big thanks to everyone who submitted fanart and my stalkers on Tumblr; YOU GUYS ARE AMAZING!

For my awesome beta theforevernight who says this chapters awesome, even though I don't think so, and to my cocreator theamazingjoker.

WARNING: EXTREMELY SENSITIVE SUBJECT MATTER IN THIS CHAPTER!

* * *

Glitterfreeze

" _It's a complicated world. People have a hard time finding each other and when they do…_

 _they're scared to take the risk"_

 _-Curiano_

The dark expanse of space stretched above them; milky galaxies and stars shining brightly in the night sky without light pollution to hide them. It was a dark planet, still millions of years away from developing complex organisms. The grass was navy blue, soft and short beneath their feet as they walked. They weaved around deep luminescent pools of water, lit by the glowing fruits that spawned in them.

It was a unique little place, small and safe. _No Federation, no face-eating plants, no risks…_

Rick kicked a stray pebble into one of the pools, observing as it sputtered and fizzed like a bath bomb. It dissolved in seconds, leaving the bioluminescent fruits unscathed. He shoved his free hand into his lab coat, the other sloshing the liquid in his flask around. Rick appreciated the many evolutionary lines that the universe had to offer. He was a man of science, above all else.

 _Above a good father, grandparent, husband, or even as a basic guardian._ Rick took a few swigs from his flask, checking the watches on his arm.

"Rick?" A tentative voice inquires from behind him.

He grunts back, and a few beats of silence pass.

Morty comes up from his side, glancing at the pool before shakily continuing. "Um… I-I got the fruit things you wanted." Morty bit his lip, his eyes glowing a bit from behind his goggles. He dropped a soaked backpack to the ground, heavy with goods. "Is this enough? Do you need me to get more or-"

He's dithering and Rick can't handle it. _He can't handle anything tonight._ Not after all the shit that had happened, and all the stress that had been drowning him. He wasn't sure if he was angrier at Morty for keeping a bombshell secret from him - _along with many more he hadn't even scratched the surface of_ \- or at himself for not figuring it out sooner, before the kid was an unresponsive mess on the garage floor.

"Shut up, Morty," Rick snaps. "J-Just leave them there. It's fine." _He wasn't really here for the stupid fruits anyways._ He wanted answers, and he was going to get them.

Morty opened his mouth like he wanted to say something more, but closed it just as quickly. Rick knew that Morty could feel how irritated he was, and he didn't want to push the envelope.

Rick headed off in a different direction, motioning for Morty to follow. The boy stuck close to Rick's side, eyeing the darkness that surrounded them. Morty twitched a bit, a shiver going through his body. It was new. The compulsory tick that surfaced immediately after Rick flushed the Xax'ic from his system. Rick could almost count the seconds between each twitching episode, filing away the information somewhere in his mind.

 _Forty-five seconds…_

Morty's body jerked a bit, and he hung back a little farther, gripping his arm.

 _Forty-five seconds…_

A small shudder, followed by the boy beginning to gnaw on the collar of his shirt.

 _Thirty-two seconds…_

A leaf crunched underfoot and broke the cycle, causing the tick to go off short of the cycle.

Rick idly hoped that it wasn't an effect caused by the drugs; that the boy's nervous system hadn't been ruined over jack-shit. He slowed his walk so he could keep pace with Morty, staring at the boy from the corner of his eyes.

Morty's sleeves were pushed past his elbows so they wouldn't get wet while he fished the fruits from the water, the light from the pools highlighting his hands and arms. His fingers were a shocking white, newly bandaged, but sopping wet. Strips of cloth hung down as it peeled away from his skin, though Morty didn't seem to mind. The bruises littering his arms were exposed, deep black blotches that curled up to where his sleeves sat.

 _The luminescent blue light made them look much darker than before…_

Rick shook the thought from his head, taking another long pull from his flask.

 _Forty-five seconds…_

Morty twitched.

* * *

They trekked for a few minutes in silence, climbing up a steep embankment. Rick easily found footholds in loose rocks, catching thick leaves protruding from the dirt to haul himself up. Morty followed behind, albeit much slower. Even with his night-vision, he couldn't seem to magically find perfect handholds like Rick and it didn't help because the older man kept sending showers of soil and rocks into Morty's face.

Morty caught a vine, stripping it of leaves as he almost slipped back down the grassy mess. His feet scrabbled for hold, finally landing on some unstable stones. _He could do this, it's just a muddy hill_. Morty grunted as he managed to lift himself up to a small ledge. _Just a little more, you're almost there._

Rick sent another shower of black dirt into Morty's face as he reached the top, dusting himself off. Morty coughed, attempting to wipe his goggles with one arm. "What the hell, Rick! You ass!" He spat, sliding back down the embankment after his footholds collapsed.

Morty landed hard, his knuckles burning and slick. _Damn,_ he thought. _Must of busted the scabs open._ The once pristine bandages were now wet and muddy, which was a shame to Morty because they had only been applied an hour or so before. _What a waste._ Morty snorted, yelling up to Rick. "I-I want my fucking suit back, Rick! I can't get up this s-stupid cliff, and it's dark! T-There could be monsters! I could die!"

Rick looked down at him with a frown. "Stop whining like a baby, this planet doesn't even have vertebrates yet," he retorted.

Morty tore the ruined bandages off of his hands, wincing at the sticky blood smeared across his fists. "C-Can't I just wait down here with the backpack then? I mean, t-there's nothing else on this dumb planet anyways and it's not like I can run away. I-I mean, how big is this place? Five miles around?" He said purposefully.

Rick lowered himself to sit on the ledge, pulling his flask out of his lab coat. "No, you can't stay down there. The fruits were just an added bonus, the real reason we're here is up this cliff," Rick snarled, taking a long swig before continuing. "A-And, I never said that there weren't man-eating plants out here, Morty. So ya better hurry your ass up."

A stab of electricity shot up Morty's spine, causing him to snap back so he could stare into the darkness surrounding him. He immediately threw himself into climbing, digging his fingers deep inside the soil to gain traction. "R-Rick! Don't leave me!" Morty anchored himself up, his feet kicking at the empty air. "I changed my mind! Please don't leave me in the dark," Morty yelled after him, quickly scrabbling to the top of the bank.

Rick grabbed his wrists as he reached the ledge, lifting Morty the rest of the way. "Chill, Morty. I was ju-just fucking with ya," he huffed. He dropped Morty to the ground and he tore the boy's goggles off.

Morty gasped, out of breath. His fingers stung from the dirt he'd basically ground into his wounds. "That wasn't funny, Rick!" _I hope they don't get infected… is the water here toxic? He should ask the old man…_ Morty blinked, his eyes adjusting to the familiar darkness.

"Of course it wasn't, your stupidity isn't funny, Morty, just really sad," Rick said condescendingly. Morty glared at his back as the man dunked his goggles into a pool of glowing water.

Morty twitched as he got up, stalking over to wash his hands off. He dropped to his knees next to Rick, roughly scrubbing at the dirty wounds. Morty noticed how the man paused, his eyes going to Morty's bloody hands and up his bruised arms. He suddenly felt self-conscious, drawing back and pulling his long sleeves past his fingers.

Rick gave him a long, empty stare.

Morty ground his teeth as he felt the sudden urge to push Rick over, or punch him, or scream at him. Instead, he just ripped the goggles from Rick's hands, snarling at him with sharpened teeth. "I. Want. My. Suit. NOW!" Morty yelled in Rick's face.

The pitying look was gone in an instant, replaced with irritation. "Ya got three seconds to get outta my face, Morty, or you - you're - I'm gonna throw you back down that fucking cliff. Because you're not getting that asinine bunny suit back."

Morty drew back, his head a mess of contradictions. "Why are you so - so ANNOYING! What do you want from me!" He dug his fingers into his hair, pacing around the clearing frantically. "Everything you say and do is so confusing! Can't you just-" Morty cut himself off with a scream of frustration, kicking a nearby tree.

Rick sat down on a rock, taking a swig from his flask. "Can't I just what, Morty? Give you your suit back, leave ya all by yourself?" The man shook his head, taking another pull. "O-Or hit you? Would that make things easier? If I slapped you around like your old Rick?"

Morty jumped up and grabbed a low branch on the tree, putting all him weight into the limb until he heard sharp _cracks_. "Why are you acting like this? Y-You're acting like I did something to you," he winced, the branch snapping off in his hands. "I just want some answers! I want to know what I'm supposed to do! I need someone to tell me what to do! You're just, vague and confusing, and I-"

Morty beat the trunk of the tree with the branch, feeling his knuckles burn. "I-I don't know what I want! I need Xax'ic! I need to feel numb again!" The wood snapped in half, crumbling in his hands. Morty jumped up to another branch, intent on ripping it apart.

He twitched violently as Rick lifted him from behind, yanking him off of the tree. Morty kicked, his feet unable to reach the ground. "Okay, little buddy. Calm your shit, I want the same things you do," Rick placated, lowering Morty.

"W-What do you mean?" Morty twitched again, the man's hands still under his arms to keep him from lashing out. Whether it be at the tree, or Rick himself.

"Look… I want answers, you want answers," Rick said, letting go of Morty. "Th-That's why we're here." He let go of Morty, going to dig in some bushes farther away from the ledge.

Morty stared as Rick pulled a cooler across the ground, hidden away in the leaves. "I-I came here while you were taking your good old time in the shower and stashed some goodies," Rick clarified, opening the container. He dug through an assortment of junk food, alcohol, and ice, finally finding a generic soda. Rick threw the can towards Morty, grabbing a bottle of alien beer for himself. Morty caught it with one hand, the other gripping his lenses.

Rick sat down on a rock, setting his glass down next to him as he dug around in his lab coat. "I wanna make a bet. A wager of sorts if ya - you wanna be fancy," he belched, removing a small, metal ball from his pocket. "You, might wanna put your goggles on, ya know, of you don't wanna go blind," Rick advised, hurling the metal piece toward the ground.

The lenses were barely over Morty's eyes when the bit burst into a roaring fire, crackling and sputtering violently. Morty, growled at Rick, sitting on a dried-out log on the opposite side of the flames. "I don't want to play. I don't want to bet. And I don't want to talk to you," Morty said, pouring the soda out on the ground. "I just want my suit back."

"What? Are you scared of losing to a Rick?" The man snorted, taking a swig from his bottle. "Anyways, we gotta go get some shit from a mall or something. Beth got rid of all my Morty's clothes and anything else that he owned after he died, and you can't just wear my old band merch. It's all too big for ya, and there's only one pair of pants that I could find," Rick explained.

"You need shoes, a toothbrush, and other crap I don't have," He grumbled, swirling the liquid in his bottle.

Morty crossed his legs, pulling the hanging sole of his shoe and allowing it to snap back. _Rick was right, they weren't going to last much longer like this._ _It wouldn't do for them if he tripped over his pants while they were running from someone._ He felt around in his pant pocket for a sliver of plastic, frowning at the card when he pulled it out.

 _Distract yourself._

"What does that have to do with the bet thing?" Morty asked, frowning at the card he'd gotten from Micheals. It was dull and had lost it's glow, toxic swirls of color covering the advertisement. _When Rick put him in the shower, the water must have ruined it._ Morty tossed it into the fire with a sigh, watching the spurt of purple that erupted from the burning plastic.

"You win, and I'll let ya get whatever you want at the place we go," Rick bargained. "Within limits, of course. No masks, weapons, or random shit that you're gonna get just to annoy me."

Morty looked at the plastic curling into itself, melting into a small pile of goop. "What if I don't want anything. What are you getting out of this?"

Rick stretched, his leg bouncing with energy. "Even if ya don't want anything, you get the satisfaction of beating a Rick," the man challenged. "And, we are both getting something outta this _game_ ," Rick said, pausing to drink. "Answers."

Morty felt his heart beat fast at the proposition. _Answers? He really wanted answers… and to win against a Rick._ "What are the rules?"

"Finallllly," Rick moaned, rolling his shoulders. "We take turns asking questions, you can choose to answer or pass, whoever answers the most questions wins. Simple."

"Unlimited passes?" Morty inquired, getting up to dig around in the cooler.

"If ya wanna lose…"

* * *

Rick was on his second bottle of beer before either of them began. His leg bounced as he continued to time Morty's twitching fits. _He had to admit that he was excited. He had so many questions to ask, and a limited window of time. If he came in too hard, Morty would quit before he could get anything._ It would be a complicated game of chance, playing on his observation skills and how far he could get to the boundaries without crossing them.

Morty threw a marshmallow into the fire, watching it go up in blue flames. "Are you gonna ask a question, old man?"

The boy was trying to act unfazed, but Rick could see the anxiety radiating off of his body. How the twitching became more visible, how he chewed on the sleeves of his shirt, like a coiled spring waiting to snap. Morty tossed another marshmallow into the fire.

 _Pyromaniac…_

"How long were you with your Rick," he asked watching Morty closely.

"Two years," Morty deadpanned, hurling more marshmallows into the fire. "How long were you with your Morty?" He asked without missing a beat.

Rick took a few gulps from his bottle. "One year," he said tonelessly. "Why were you with your Rick anyway? Ricks usually crash with their Beths, or live at the Citadel. We don't do babysitting unless we have to."

"I don't want to talk about it," Morty said, hugging his knees.

Rick leaned back, groaning. "Is that a pass?"

"No." Morty replied, a far-off look in his eyes. Rick waited, a few minutes of silence passing between them. "My Rick - I mean my mom… I don't know?"

He gave Rick a pleading look, resting his chin on his knees. "We lived in a nightmare dimension. It was dark, all the time, and there were monsters everywhere. My mom tried her best because my dad died before I was even born. She taught me how to take care of myself, but she didn't have time for me."

"A lot of Beths don't have time for their Mortys," Rick hummed. "So what? Did you run away with your Rick like some angsty teen, thinking you'd go on cool adventures and shit?" There was a bitterness in his voice that made Morty cringe.

"No!" Morty screeched, jumping up from his seat. "I-I would never do that to her or Summer! It was all your fault!" He pointed at Rick. " _You_ ruined everything!"

Rick rolled his eyes. "I'm not a psychic, Morty, ya gotta be a little more descriptive."

"My mom thought that I couldn't handle living in the dark," Morty said, dropping back down to the log. "My sister, she came out perfect. She could stand her ground against any monster, and she took care of me when my mom was struggling to keep us alive. My mom was the only doctor in our town, and people got mauled all the time. She had to balance the community, and getting food, and raising us."

"No matter how hard I tried, I was still weak and tiny compared to the other kids. And that scared my mom. She thought that I was gonna die like my dad," Morty mumbled. "Then you came back…"

"Oh," Rick breathed, hooks digging into his stomach. _He knew where this was going._ He finished off his bottle, throwing it over the cliff and listening to the _smash_ of glass.

"You - _You_ promised! _You_ promised to take care of me! _You_ told my mom about all these wonderful worlds were there weren't any monsters, a-and all kinds of other bullshit to get her to do what you wanted!" Morty shouted, waving his arms. "And she believed you! She thought that you were going to give me another chance at a life!"

Morty sniffled, digging his fingers into the bruises on his arms. "S-She gave me to you cause she loved me, and I went, even though I knew how awful you really were. I went because I couldn't bare to tell her th-that - to ruin the pedestal she put you on. I-If she knew…"

"Do you want to go back?" Rick asked.

"N-No. I went because I was a burden." Morty stared into the fire, the glow gleaming off of his goggles. "Because of me, my sister had to be a mom, and my mom had to worry and work twice as much. T-They were right. I can't handle monsters or the dark, and I couldn't make it without Summer by my side. I-I used to have nightmares about being ripped apart, and then my mom would find me and blame herself. And if I could go back now, my mom would know what _you_ did to me, and I'd probably die sooner or later anyways."

Morty seemed to pull himself together, taking a deep, steadying breath. "She couldn't handle it. Knowing the shit I went through, and then my inevitable death… it would kill her." There was a pause. " _He_ lied," Morty insisted.

"I know," Rick sighed. "We tend to do that a lot."

"W-Was your Morty like me?" He asked quietly.

"No," Rick growled. "Other than the name and being a pain in the ass, you guys could be night and day. Never ask me again."

Morty crumpled up the empty marshmallow bag, dropping it into the fire. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

Rick disregarded his apology, opting to ask another question. "So, is the twitching normal? Or is it like a side-effect of the drug I should be worried about?"

The boy perked up a bit at the break in tension. "I've had it for most of my life. My mom thought that it was because of my anxiety. Something to do with the stress? We didn't really have anyone to figure out why I had the tick though, but it wasn't hurting me so I just lived with it until..." Morty trailed off, and Rick waved for him to elaborate.

"The twitching made my Rick angry," Morty said. "It's one of the reasons he gave me the Xax'ic. It stopped the twitching and got rid of the other stuff." He opened a soda after staring at it's label for a while.

"Other stuff? Is there something I'm missing here?" Rick scoffed, opening a bottle of hard liquor. _He'd probably have to portal home tonight and pick his ship up when he wouldn't kill them both via asteroid._

Morty drank some soda, a curious expression on his face. "I'm a person, Rick. No matter how much you try to pretend I'm not," he said. "I was your shield, just as I am now. You wouldn't even have me if I couldn't protect you from the Federation. My Rick wanted the shield part, without the living thing part. I got hungry, and tired, and scared. The Xax'ic mellowed me out. If I took it, I wouldn't have to eat or sleep or feel. It got rid of the inconveniences."

"You're right, Morty. I don't give a damn about you, or your fucking problems. I wish you weren't a person, cause then I wouldn't have to deal with all this shit," he said harshly. . _Wow, he didn't think he could hate himself anymore than he already did_. _But why was he angry? Everything Morty said was true. The main reason he was even in Rick's custody was because of his shielding capabilities._ Rick hurled his half-empty bottle at a tree, the glass exploding in a shower.

The kid glared at him from across the fire, taking another sip from his soda before dumping it out like the previous one.

"But you are. You're a person, a kid at that. Which means I'm responsible for ya when your parents aren't around." Rick closed his eyes thinking hard. "I need you to stay alive so that I can stay alive. Because I'm a sleazy old man that cares more about himself than the fates of entire solar systems. And keeping you alive doesn't mean pumping you full of drugs until you don't know your own name."

Morty opened another soda just so he could dump it out like the rest, studying the fizz and how it mixed with the other brands. "You're weird."

"Is that a question?" Rick asked, feeling drained.

"W-Why do you act like you care? You say that you don't, but I know what ' _Not Caring'_ is. MY grandpa didn't care," Morty snapped, trying to fit pieces of some sort of puzzle together. "Why do you talk to me? You don't have to. Things could just be like before, when I followed my Rick and didn't ask questions. Why can't _we_ just be like that?" He said in a rush, trying to get all of his ideas out.

"Pass," Rick hissed.

Morty stood up, crushing the can in his hand. "That's not fair!" He accused.

"Too bad," Rick mumbled, opening a can decorated with alien symbols. "What? You should be happy. Hooray! You're winning!" He mocked, taking a swig from his new beer.

Morty crossed his arms, sitting down on the ground closer to the fire. "What are the burns on your neck from?" Rick asked, gauging Morty's reaction.

The angry pout disappeared immediately, replaced with a shocked, frightened expression. Rick watched the boy's mental state dissolve within seconds; the proud, rebellious killer changing back into that poor, abused boy. It was miraculous how the kid could flip between personalities so quickly, and then settle back into a neutral air.

 _Somewhat neutral._ Rick thought as he watched Morty attempt to conceal his emotions, still jarred from the question. When he didn't reply, Rick pushed farther, hoping that the interrogation wouldn't break the fragile game they were playing. "I got a good look at them when I was flushing the Xax'ic from your system. Some of the burns are new, but most are on top of older scar tissue. So they came from something consistent - something regularly applied to your throat. It wasn't an accident or a one time deal either."

 _Damn. He hoped that his logic would keep the kid from trying to lie to his face, and wouldn't scare him away or cause him to lash out. But backing him into a corner was probably the only way he'd get answers…_ Rick thought to himself, wiping spit off of his face.

"Pass," Morty whispered after a long time. Rick groaned, reminding himself that he could still ask other important shit. _Fine, he'd figure it out on his own._

"Aaaand now we're even, Morty," Rick clapped. "Ya - You better try harder of ya wanna win this shit. Do you really want to lose to a Rick?"

Morty scrunched his nose, picking up a stick near his feet and scribbling in the dirt with it. "Did you ever hurt your Morty?" He asked in a subdued tone, somewhat lethargic from the last question.

"Yes," Rick admitted, dark thoughts swirling in his head. Morty gave him a sad look, as if he was expecting a different answer. "W-What did you want me to say, Morty!? That I was a good grandfather? I slapped him, I pushed him down the stairs, and BIG surprise, I got him killed," He vented.

"I didn't mean like that," Morty broke through, concerned.

Rick pushed his own demons out of his mind. _Calm down, you old fuck! You're gonna ruin everything!_ "Okay, okay…" He rubbed his face. "What _did_ you mean, kid?"

"I - Nevermind, Rick," Morty said. He began drawing in the dirt again, sketching monsters from his own world. "It's your turn."

 _Fuck. He'd just missed a golden opportunity to explore Morty's abuse. And he'd lost it, for what? A blow to his ego? The kid hitting a sore spot?_ Rick brushed it off. "Why did you kill your Rick?"

"Pass," Morty said flatly, drawing another monster. "How did your Morty die?"

"Y-You're a smartass, you know that, Morty," Rick belched. "Pass," he huffed reluctantly.

"I want to win," Morty deadpanned, adding massive teeth to his lizard monster's gaping maw.

Rick started to count the seconds between Morty's twitches again, trying to disconnect himself from their game. _If he let his emotions get in the way, he'd lose._ "I was going to ask about the bruises and all the fucked up shit _I know_ your Rick did to ya, but honestly, I think that would be a waste of time. I'm not going to throw my question away for something I already know, Morty."

"You don't know anything," Morty said over the fire, glaring at Rick.

Rick slipped off of his rock to sit on the ground, leaning back and closing his eyes. "Oh, I don't? Enlighten me then, Morty."

Morty didn't answer.

"That's what I thought," Rick scoffed. "So how about the drugs? I know you're not going to admit your Rick got you hooked, so have you ever overdosed?"

He could see the boy thinking, the cogs of his mind working to come up with a good answer. _Deciding whether or not to even tell him the truth._ A few minutes passed, and Rick waited patiently as Morty drew a plant creature alongside his growing number of abominations.

"Yes. I have," Morty said suddenly. "It was my fault." He scrunched up his face as he thought hard.

Rick looked out into the woods, taking a swig from his can. "Morty, you're a kid. You don't have the capacity to be at fault for this shit. You were with your Rick for what? Two years? That means you were twelve when you started shooting up. _TWELVE_ , Morty!"

"It doesn't matter," Morty said, failing at a new monster sketch. "It was in the beginning, when I was first learning how to do it myself," he rationalized.

"For God's sake, Morty!" Rick shouted, throwing his hands up in the air. "You shouldn't be learning how to do drugs! Especially from your grandpa! Even stupid people know that giving your grandkids drugs is wrong!"

Morty became frustrated with his drawing, crossing it out and tossing the branch into the fire. "My Rick usually measured it out for me when I first started," He said.

"So? Do you think that makes it any better, Morty?" Rick asked, hurling his empty can over the ledge.

"You don't understand," Morty insisted, a desperate tinge in his voice. "We were at a party on Birdworld, and Rick was busy so he just handed me the whole vile, and I thought I was supposed to take it all! I filled up the syringe and-"

He cut himself off stomping on his intricate drawings. "I got really sick, and I threw up a lot. Then I passed out in the corner, and I couldn't talk or scream for help. Everyone was partying and didn't realize I was there. I thought I was gonna die," Morty added.

"What happened?" Rick asked, trying to keep his rage from showing. _The last thing he needed was to scare the kid away. Not in the middle of a story. He could go blow up a planet or something later. Maybe mess with the Zigereons. Mindfucking bastards…_

"Birdperson saved me," Morty ended, scuffing out stray lines from his ruined monsters.

"Birdperson was always good for that," Rick commented, looking over at Morty. "Did you stay with BP a lot?"

"It's my turn," Morty reminded him, and Rick noticed that the kid's hands were shaking. "What's your favorite color?" He asked.

Rick was taken aback the question, and it took him a fraction of a second to realize that the kid is stalling. He's not even sure if Morty knows that this is a game anymore, or if it's something he thinks that he has to do. Not really to prove himself, but to avoid Rick's possible wrath. He shook the thoughts from his head. "I don't have one. I like white though, it's sterile. _Clean_."

Morty kicked up some dirt, looking around for more stuff to throw into the fire. "White isn't a color," he replied offhandedly.

"And blue isn't a color to a bunch of other aliens, Morty," Rick said, observing Morty as he started to rip branches off of the trees. "T-There's a fucking dimension where things are only black and white too, Morty, and we both know that you don't care about my favorite color, so let's just get this over with and go home."

Morty nodded, plucking leaves off of the branches he tore down. He sat down near the trunk, his back facing Rick. "W-We stayed with Birdperson a lot. He really tried, you know? Birdperson learned what humans eat, and set up a room just for me," Morty said, a small hitch in his voice.

"When things got really bad between Rick and I, he wasn't afraid to step in. I think he figured out that the Rick he knew wasn't the same as the R-Rick he'd become or something." Rick heard the snapping of wood, and assumed Morty was breaking the branch apart. "Squanchy eventually got involved too, and one day we just left and never came back."

The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"BP's a good guy," Rick glanced at Morty.

"I know," Morty whined. "So, you have a Birdperson in this dimension?"

"Yeah. Have a Squanchy too. They're good wingmen. They set me straight when things get out of hand, but they let me do whatever the hell I want most of the time," Rick said, an empathetic undertone lacing his voice. "So, we already know about the drugs. Anything else I should know about? Alcohol?"

"Sometimes," Morty replied, stuffing some leaves in his mouth, seeming to forget about the game altogether. "Are these plants poisonous?"

Rick scrunched his brow. "You should have asked that before shoving them in your mouth, you fucking idiot… but no, they aren't. But I should ask why you're eating them when we have a cooler full of perfectly edible junk two feet away."

"My teeth are bothering me," Morty said, spitting out a mouthful of foliage. "I'm not going to eat them, just chew on them."

"That's fucking stupid," Rick echoed, grabbing a random bottle from the cooler. He didn't even read the label, popping it open and chugging half of the bottle. "What do ya mean by ' _Sometimes?'"_

"When we went to parties, my Rick would make me drink with him," Morty said nonchalantly. "I don't like beer, it tastes awful and it makes my head fuzzy. It makes it harder to protect myself."

"Protect yourself? From what?" Rick asked suspiciously. "I thought you left the nightmare dimension to get away from monsters?"

"Not monsters," Morty mumbled incoherently, putting more leaves into his mouth.

 _Fuck, he was withdrawing. Not good._ Morty turns around to rest his back against the tree, and Rick can see the haunted look behind his goggles. His heart seizes a bit as an idea enters his mind, buzzing insistently. _Shit, shit, shit. Please don't let this be what he thinks it is. Fuck, should he ask? Does he even want to know the answer? Some things are best left in the dark, right?_

"Did your Rick ever-" _shit this is so fucked up_ "-you know? Touch you?" He asked, despite his reservations. Red flags went up as he mentally kicked himself.

"Wha-?" Morty tilted his head, confused. "What do you-?" Morty's eyes widened as he realized what Rick was asking him. "NO! No! Gross!" He jumped up, covering his face. "Why would you EVER ask that! What the hell, Rick!?"

"Hey! I had to ask, kid! It's just as fucking weird for me!" Rick sputtered.

"Geeze! Why would you ever ask that!" Morty repeated, his face red.

"I'm getting all this hard shit outta the way, Morty, so the faster you give me answers, the faster we get home," Rick clarified, watching Morty collapse back under the tree. "I had to ask because of how you act around people, Morty. I see how you flinch everytime I touch ya, and how you panic around people in general. At the Citadel, in the tavern… normal kids don't act that way, Morty." He explained gently.

Morty hugged himself, a familiar tension in his shoulders. "Morty, if something happened, I need to know," Rick insisted, putting his bottle down.

Morty curled in on himself, turning away from Rick. "Once, an alien grabbed me in a stairwell. He got my clothes off, but I gutted him before he could do anything," he confirmed in a muffled jumble, his face buried in his knees. "Sometimes when I got drunk or high at parties, aliens would hurt me, but that doesn't count."

Rick felt around in his lab coat, removing another small, metallic sphere. He got up and tossed it in the fire, the flames dying in a puff of white smoke.

* * *

Neither or them said anything for a long time, and Morty knew that he should have just kept quiet. He got caught up in the competition, even though he didn't really want to win it towards the end. _It just felt so good to have someone to… listen to him, for the first time in years_. Sure, he'd told his grandfather about aliens who'd gotten handsy, or hurt him in various ways, but it never went anywhere. The most he had gotten out of it was reprimands for being s _o fucking stupid_ or a cuff on the head.

The blackened pit left by the fire smoked for a while, gooey puddles of melted plastic smoldering longer than the rest. Rick still sat across from him, alternating between staring at him or at the mess of stinking grass. Morty stole occasional glances at the man, watching his sobriety slip away. Morty's nerves grated with each burp, drool beginning to drip from Rick's chin.

 _He just wanted to go home. He didn't care about having clothes or a toothbrush; not if it meant that he had to spend more time tiptoeing around Rick._ Morty sighed, slowly whittling a stick with a dull stone. He spat out some remaining leaf residue, the pungent flavor sticking to his tongue. Morty wished that he hadn't dumped out all of the sodas, that he wasn't so _compulsive_.

Rick eventually got up, swaying a bit as he collected half a dozen bottles that had been scattered around their small campsite. He mumbled under his breath the entire time, nearly falling over as he opened the cooler to drop the empty containers in. Morty twitched as glass shattered, followed by Rick cursing to himself.

He straightened up as best that he could while inebriated, dusting off his lab coat and pulling out his flask. Rick shook it, popping open the cap. "Y-You know, MoOOOUURty," he belched, taking a swig. "I-It was - wasn't your fault. Do-Don't ever think that, little buddy," Rick slurred drunkenly.

Morty's arms itched with phantom pains, nonexistent needle tracks still haunting him. "I-I don't know what you're talking about, Rick," he said slowly. Morty got to his feet, tapping the sharpened stick against his leg. "Can we just go home? Y-You're really drunk, Rick, and if monsters come, I don't have my suit or my claws or my knife," Morty rambled nervously, feeling the darkness begin to seep into his bones.

Rick stumbled through the cooling ashes on the ground and Morty matched the man's steps, backing away. His grandfather never had control when he got too drunk. If Morty was in the way, he'd get slapped or pushed, so he had quickly learned to clear a path when his Rick got completely shitfaced. "I-I mean, where was your Rick? He should have beeeeeen there, Morty. Y-You can't be expected to - he was supposed to make sure you were okay, Morty," Rick belched, rubbing his face.

Morty gripped the branch tightly, feeling the bark dig into his palm. "It doesn't matter," he stated bluntly. "I-It was my responsibility to protect myself. If I can't fight attackers off, then that's my own fault."

Morty backed up against a tree, and Rick lunged forward. The man grabbed his shoulders tightly, shaking him. "F-For fuck's sake, Morty! You - you're a kid! Y-Y-You're not supposed to have to protect yourself! Those fucking alien perverts should know better, Morty! Y-You can't consent to shit," Rick went on, his voice rising.

Most of Rick's weight was pressing Morty against the tree, and he guessed that the man would collapse if it wasn't for Morty holding him up. "G-Get off, Rick! Stop touching me!" He snapped, using his free arm to push Rick's face away. "There's no such thing as consent! People do what they want, and if you can't stop them-"

"That's the most backwards thing I've ever heard in my life, Morty!" Rick growled, his speech becoming much more coherent. "A-An adult should never lay a goddamn hand on a kid! I don't care i-if they're drunk o-or high, you don't ever touch kids! Even with adults, everyone has to consent, Morty!"

"W-Well, I guess that I just didn't do it right then!" Morty shouted at Rick, shoving him back. "I'm sorry that I didn't think to say, 'Please don't tear my shirt off in a seclu-secluded hallway,' or 'Hey, Mr. Alien guys, please don't put cigars out on my chest' while I was crying or high on a couch soaked with piss!" His eyes burned with tears as he stabbed the stick into the dirt as he lost control over his emotions.

Rick gave him that stupid, stupid pitying stare and Morty couldn't hold in the anger that bubbled in his chest. It mixed with shame and made him sick. _So, so sick._

"I'm sorry, kid. I shoulda been there, I shouldn't have let that happen to ya, Morty, because you're worth something. _Y-You_ matter," Rick told him with a sad expression.

"SORRY DOESN'T FIX THINGS!" Morty screamed, his voice cracking horribly. "Bad things happen to me all the time and no one cares! I'm not worth caring about! Y-You're just trying to manipulate me into being your perfect little pet! But it won't work!" He hiccuped, stabbing the stick into the ground again.

The drunken haze was gone in an instant, a serious look overtaking Rick's face. "Wha-What about if this shit happened to your sister, Morty. Would it be different then?" he said coldly, tilting his head.

"DON'T YOU EVER SAY THAT!" Morty's thin grasp on sanity snapped, the urge to _hurt_ , to _kill_ , flooding his mind.

"So it's not the same!? It can't be two ways, Morty! You can't pick and choose morals like-like candy!" Rick antagonized, bracing himself for Morty's inevitable outburst.

"S-Shut up!" Morty darted forward, slamming into Rick.

They both tumbled down to the grass, Rick immediately grabbing ahold of Morty's hair. The man's reaction time was stunted by the amount of alcohol he consumed, and Morty relished the look in Rick's eyes when the man realized that he had fucked up. Morty managed to rip himself away from Rick's hold, the man taking a chunk of hair with him.

Morty utilized all of his strength, using both hand to force the sharpened stick past Rick's defenses. The man barely had time to direct the weapon away from his exposed throat, wood digging into the flesh of his shoulder instead. Rick didn't scream, but he did grunt in pain as he grappled for Morty's arms.

The man used his legs as leverage, flipping Morty over and twisting the kid's arm behind his back. "Ow - fucking dammit, Morty! Y-You little bitch!" Rick hissed, digging into Morty's arm.

"Please, Rick! You're gonna break my arm!" Morty cried out in pain as Rick used his free hand to rip Morty's goggles off.

"No I'm not, you baby! Jesus, Morty! I have a spear sticking out of my shoulder, ya little shit!" Rick let go of him, pocketing the goggles.

Morty fell on his face while trying to stand, grabbing a stone. He rolled over, throwing it at Rick as the man pulled the stick from his shoulder.

It hit Rick in the face, sending the man into a cursing fit.

"Quit it, Morty!" Rick shouted, his shoulder bleeding a bit.

Morty frowned at the small circle of blood. _The stick hadn't gone very deep, only penetrating the surface of his skin._

Rick stepped toward him and dread crawled up Morty's chest. He scooted back, and Rick scoffed at him. "We're done here, Morty. I-I don't wanna get into anymore shit tonight," He sighed, backing Morty up into a log.

Rick offered his hand, bending down to Morty's level as he spoke. "I-I just want you to understand that what happened to you was wrong, Morty."

Morty flinched away, twitching uncontrollably. "Well, I don't, so what do you want me to say?"

Disappointment flashed in Rick's eyes, and he frowned. "You know what, Morty? I'm not gonna stand here all night trying to explain why you're wrong. I don't want to talk about it anymore, and I definitely don't want to think about it anymore. We got a super store to burglarize, so let's go," Rick said in a disinterested voice, snatching Morty's wrist and pulling the boy to his feet.

He removed his portal gun from his lab coat, opening a portal and tugging Morty along. "Honestly, I expected more from you," Rick ended.

A led weight settled in Morty's stomach, and he wasn't sure why it felt so _wrong._

* * *

Morty followed Rick blindly through the store, blinking rapidly as his eyes attempted to adjust to the light. His vision swam, unable to see anything but a white blur. _He was completely blind without his goggles. Vulnerable…_ Anxiety and fear clawed at his heart, and he tried to dig his heels into the linoleum multiple times.

"W-Would you stop dragging your feet, ya little fuck," Rick snapped ahead of him.

Morty almost tripped as they ventured onto a carpeted surface, tightening his grip on Rick's hand. "G-Give my goggles back, Rick! I can't see!"

"That's the point, Morty. You lost your privileges when ya tried to impale me with a stick," Rick said bitterly, abruptly halting and causing Morty to bump into him. "Now, would you let go of my hand? I know you're scared but I didn't think you'd be that desperate for attention," he mocked.

Morty jerked his hand out of Rick's, and the man laughed at him. He felt the brush of clothes against his body, and he guessed that they had made it to the desired isle. Morty heard Rick shuffle around, pawing through the hanging shirts. As he moved farther away, Morty was forced to grab the edge of Rick's lab coat so he wouldn't get left behind.

"Morty, what kinds clothes do ya want? Because we aren't coming back here if you don't like what I pick out," Rick explained.

"I don't know, my Rick usually just came back with stuff," Morty replied.

A few dull memories swirled in his head. Whenever his clothes were damaged beyond repair, replacements were never new, and his Rick definitely never asked him what he wanted. Morty guessed that his grandfather got most of his clothes out of donation bins or even the trash. He'd learned to improvise more often than not; using sharpies to draw his own designs that took away from the conspicuous stains or the huge sizes.

Morty shook the thoughts from his head, thinking hard about what he would want.

 _No one ever asked him before..._

"Come on, Morty," Rick drawled. "As long as it's not _yellow_ , you can have it."

Morty knew that Rick didn't want yellow clothes because of his original Morty, and decided not to call the man out on it. _They'd had enough drama for a lifetime._

"Long sleeves, dark colors," Morty settled on shortly, pausing as he briefly thought of what else he might need. "Can I have some jackets, Rick?"

"Coming right up, kid," Rick grunted, throwing clothes into a basket.

Suddenly, something pulled on the back of his jeans. Morty's heart seized in his throat, and he couldn't stop a shriek of terror from leaving his mouth. He swung around, breaking his attackers hold and shoving them back into a rack of shirts. All he could feel in that moment was panic; that he was completely helpless. _No weapons, no sight, no way of defending himself._

Morty reeled, attempting to bolt, when something grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him off of his feet.

"It's just me, Morty," Rick assured, and Morty stilled. "I-I was just checking your pant size, it's okay, just calm down. I can't have ya blindly running around an alien super store."

Morty pressed heavily against Rick, digging a hand into his coat. "I want to go back to the house," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. _Dammit, you're gonna fuck everything up and Rick will leave you. Fucking baby. He's getting you shit and this is how you repay him?_

Morty jerked back as Rick slid his goggles back onto his face. "Look, Morty. We're going to hafta talk about some of the fucked up shit that happened to ya sometime, but I'm gonna let it go for now, which is really fucking hard for me to do," he grimaced, handing Morty his own basket from a nearby rack.

"Now," Rick said as Morty looked around the empty store, his sight restored. "While I get your clothes, I want you to go and get your underwear, toothbrush, and whatever other shit you need."

"By myself?" Morty asked in a small voice, frantically scoping out the area.

"Are you scared?" Rick quirked his brow, taking a pull from his flask. "By the way, you won the bet, so grab some junk you'd like while you're at it. Just don't take all night," he continued, trying to act like it wasn't a big deal.

Morty didn't question his win, but he did scurry away from Rick to save himself from more embarrassment.

"No knives, masks, or other weapons!" Rick yelled after Morty. "Meet me by the food court when you're done!"

* * *

The garage was cold, signalling the beginning of the end of summer. The dull, orange sunrise peeked through the small rectangular windows of the garage door, bathing the room in a peaceful, picturesque light that belonged in some home-and-garden magazine. It was one of those quiet moments that stuck with people when they thought back on their life. A special, lazy air that seemed to be more prominent than exciting adventures or thrilling accomplishments.

At least it felt that way to Rick, as he was in a sentimental mood that morning.

Rick rocked back in his chair, taking occasional swigs from his flask. He'd begun to liquidize the fruit that they had collected earlier that night, going back for the ship and materials after he had sobered up a bit. It was a rocky ride home, the interior of the ship radiating in awkwardness that he couldn't even begin to explain.

After Morty came back with a basket full of worthless shit, neither of them had the guts to confront each other with the things that were discussed at the campsite.

 _Honestly, he didn't think that he'd ever be ready to talk about the shit that he'd learned that night._ Rick thought, taking a pull from his flask. _None of it was right. The things that Morty's Rick let happen to him, and the things that he had done to the kid himself. The boy was scarred in ways that he couldn't even comprehend, or even begin to fathom._

Yet, - despite his every instinct screaming for him to get out while he could - he was tasked with trying to glue the pieces back together.

Because he doubted that any other Rick in all the infinite universes would actually try to if he dropped him back off at the Citadel and bailed.

Rick scooped up one of the jars of purple goop sitting on his workbench, eyeing the liquid as it's luminescent properties faded. _To be completely honest, he couldn't even remember why he wanted the shit in the first place. With everything that went down on that fucking planet, his grand scheme of things had shifted considerably._

He rubbed his eyes, another sleepless night weighing down on him, because he just couldn't risk falling asleep with a murderous Morty breathing down his neck. Rick stood up and opened an overhead cabinet, stocking the shelves with the jars until he could remember what he needed the glowing substance for.

 _Probably drugs._ He guessed, but decided that he would find another use if that was the case. Rick looked over at Morty, collapsing back into his swivel chair. After Morty had fallen asleep, he'd taken a trip to his room with a garbage bag, clearing out every illegal substance he had tucked away in his dresser, though he would never admit it.

The boy was lying halfway on his side, his head cushioned with his hands. Art supplies littered the garage floor, and Rick had been fairly careful not to step on them when navigating the room throughout the night. A few glowsticks were cracked and scattered around Morty's body in a sloppy circle, as if they would ward off monsters that happened to meander by.

 _Out of all the things in an alien super store with anything the universe had to offer, the kid had taken a trip down the arts and crafts isle. He could have gotten everything here on Earth for twenty dollars._ Rick sighed, taking one last swig from his flask before getting up; his back cracking horribly.

He tucked the container back into his lab coat, collecting the chalk, crayons, and papers in an effort to organize his workspace. Rick relaxed at the monotonous activity, tucking the utensils back into their proper boxes and stacking drawings on the edge of his desk. He paused to look at a few of them in the dim light out of curiosity, most depicting monsters or mutilated animals that made Rick question why he ever wanted to get another Morty.

There were a few diamonds in the rough that reinstated his decision, bringing him back to the reality of this Morty's age and reason for being like he was. _A victim of circumstance._ Rick frowned at the less serious pictures of space and lost planets, sometimes even trees or flowers. The kid was a talented painter in landscaping, yet his depictions of living (or dead) creatures took a cartoonish, exaggerated tone.

Rick quickly finished, not feeling up to dissecting the reason behind a fourteen year-old's scribbles.

Morty rolled onto his back, revealing a plastic-handled paint brush sticking out of his mouth. Rick rolled his eyes and crouched down to snatch the drool covered tool from the kid's mouth before he managed to choke to death and ruin all their progress.

 _Is that what we're calling it now? Progress? Not digging for answers and getting in too deep?_ Rick shook the thought from his mind, his gaze lingering on Morty's sharp teeth, reminding him how deadly the boy actually was. Trained from birth to kill monsters, and then moving on to people after going to live alongside his Rick.

His remaining family would be back in a few hours, and he was going to have to monitor this _killer_ so that they wouldn't be added to the boy's extensive track record.

 _God, what had he gotten himself into?_

Rick threw the ruined brush into his garbage bin, pacing. _This was a trainwreck waiting to happen. Maybe he could just do them both a favor and put the kid outta his misery before he grew up and became as jaded and cynical as himself._ Rick's fingers itched for a gun, and before he knew it, he'd opened a draw full of weapons; the laser pistol catching his eye and fitting perfectly in his palm.

He looked down at Morty as the boy curled into a tight ball, soft breaths accompanying a few restless twitches. _How in God's name was he gonna fix this? A kid that suffered unimaginable abuse, sexual molestation, drug addiction, and who murdered people. It would be better for everyone this way_. Rick reasoned, quietly cocking the gun. _He could just tell the family that he had taken the kid back, they would forgive him, and he could wallow on Earth for the rest of his miserable existence._

Rick looked at his _new_ Morty, sleeping fitfully; paranoid of the dangers that awaited him in his time of weakness, suspicious of everyone's intentions and motives. _More like him than he wanted to admit._

Rick tried to raise the gun, his hand shaking. _Come on Rick, you've blown up planets, murdered innocent people, and allies you've trusted with your life. This kid's just another drop in the bucket, another victim of the uncaring universe. You've only known him for a few days anyways… he's not like..._

Rick unloaded the gun, throwing it into the open drawer and adding a newly stolen baby lock to it to discourage Morty. _He'd have to Mortyproof the entire house_. He thought frantically, his heart still pounding in his chest as he tried to pretend that nothing just happened. It would be funny to watch Jerry bumble around, getting pissed over not being competent enough to figure out baby locks. He laughed to himself - a bitter, insincere sound that resembled a sob.

Suddenly, the world became too much for him to handle, and he bent over his workbench with his face buried in his arms.

 _He missed his grandson._

* * *

Review, like and favorite for more! If you have any questions about the story, don't be afraid to pop by my PM or tumblr. I go by the same account name and try to answer and reply to everyone. Also, I tend to post sneak peeks and in depth stuff on my tumblr, so don't miss out.

I am now taking requests for oneshots concerning Rick and Morty to help with writers block and to stay fresh. Send me a message if you want a specific story written, or have a prompt. Rules are no pairings or incest, and I have the right to deny any idea I'm uncomfortable with. Pocket mortys has a lot of potential and I'd love to hear what Ricks and mortys you can come up with!

PaigeK9, signing off!


	6. UPDATE

So, it's been a while people…

I just want to thank all my followers for the amazing support I've been given throughout my writing career. Things have been rough for me as of late, and I feel really directionless in my life. I'm really sorry for the unexpected hiatus, as I tend to write long ass chapters and burn myself out.

College has been hell, and I'm finishing finals this week. Hopefully I'll be back soon, but no promises.

My depression has been really hard to deal with and has stunted me as a writer the past few weeks.

SO, on to the writing update! (For anyone who cares)

I want to apologize in advance to anyone who has sent in writing requests, because I'm canceling my oneshot series. I'm really sorry, but I just can't deal with that in top of my depression right now…

On _This is All There is_ \- the hiatus continues while I sort things out, but the fic will not be abandoned. I already have the entire fic planned out and it should stretch to twenty or so chapters.

AND FINALLY, FOR ANYONE WHO HAS STUCK AROUND FROM THE BEGINNING!

( _Ahem….)  
_  
I am currently working on the rewrite of the insanely popular _Iridescent!_

Yup. Its gonna be _gooooooooooooooood._

Welp, that's about it on my end. I would really appreciate if some people could talk to me or something. Drop a comment; poll on whether or not you actually want a continuation of Iridescent.

PaigeK9 signing out!


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